


(Not) a hero

by Fogfire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, the avengers are a team!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 35,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: half a year ago Y/N has managed to flee the Nightleaf lab with one of the other experiments, a teenage boy she has taken under her wing. But they had left someone else behind and only managed to get them out with the help of the Avengers. Now, six months later they are all part of the Avengers and slowly but surely getting over the trauma. But not everything is well...





	1. Chapter 1

There are many ways one could join the Avengers.

Some through force, like Tony, or at least that’s what he liked to tell people.

Some acted like they had no other choice, like Bruce or even Steve.

Natasha liked to remind people that she had been an Avenger before the Avenger had even been a thing.

Then there was Clint, who liked to remind them that he wasn’t actually a part of it, just helping when they needed an archer or a pilot or just a person capable of doing stuff. He liked to talk about it while raiding the fridge, lounging on the couch or trying to persuade Tony that he needed a bigger TV in the room that could be his own if he ever let go of the apartment he claimed he lived in.

But you had joined in a different way.

“Did you hear the news?” Wanda asked and you reluctantly turned your head away from the argument Clint and Tony were going through in the hallway. You desperately wanted to know if Clint could get Tony to give him the bigger TV and if so, how we did it. But you also needed to be on top of everything news related.

“What news?”

“Apparently they want to do a special Avenger’s documentary.”

“They?” Now she had your full attention and you turned your full body towards her. You were still locked in the one Yoga pose you could actually muster even though it made you look like a pretzel. A pretzel now lying flat on Wanda’s bed.

“Some magazine. They want to do interviews and pictures, trying to sell more copies.”

“You think they will get through with it?”

“Well, they already talked to Nat and Steve, and apparently, I have to talk to them tomorrow.”

Her tone was flat, emotionless, but she wasn’t the closest to you in the tower for a reason.

You two felt absolutely the same about media attention.

“Why did Fury even allow this?” You ask and untie yourself. The argument in the hallway has stopped and you remind yourself to ask Clint about it afterward.

“Apparently we need to get some positive attention. Someone’s kids destroyed a house block downtown.”

You groan.

“Seriously, if I could do something about it, I would, Wanda!” You exclaim and regret it the moment she turns her chair around to look at you. There’s a gleam in her eyes that you don’t like.

“You could do something, you know,” she says, “Because there’s someone they’d like to interview even more than me. The mother of said kids.”

“Seriously?” You ask, “I have nothing to tell.”

“Oh? You underestimate the interest people have in you. They want to know how you met the kids, how you got them out of that freaky lab, how you managed to teach them to control their power and how you followed them to the Avenger’s.”

“How do you know that?” You ask, “You just made that up.”

She smiles and hands you a piece of paper. You recognize Fury’s handwriting and start reading. It’s the same question she just had mentioned.

“Oh no,” you say, “They really want to get to know me!”

“And if you do the Interview, I don’t have to explain for the tenth time how me working with Ultron was a very bad mistake.”

She looks at you with pleading eyes and you groan.

“Fine. But they better just ask this questions! I’m not gonna answer anything besides that.”

“You don’t have to,” Wanda assures you, “You’re just the adoptive mom of two superhero teenagers. There’s nothing more to it that they would want to know.”

But there is. You didn’t know how to talk about it when you got here and now, six months later, you still have no clue how to get it out of you.

Because how do you say “my kids aren’t the only ones with superpowers” without it growing into a huge snowball of problems?

The interview takes place in one of the many hardly used seminar rooms at the tower.

Wanda had been so thankful for you taking the hit that she had offered her own wardrobe - and after you refused, she had forced you to wear it - as well as calling Natasha for help with make-up and hair.

You look younger in Wanda’s clothes, probably because she didn’t hide in misfitting mom jeans that were half the price and flannel shirts that could probably still fit Banner if he wanted to hulk out.

Natasha had done a great job too, skipping the makeup because the staff from the magazine would do that themselves. Instead, she had busied herself with your eyebrows and the skin still prickled where she had gone wild.

You read through the questions again, reminding yourself what you wanted to answer. A door opened and you heard someone whistle.

Your son, or project B12, as you had come to know him almost two years ago, walked in, smiling brightly.

“Did Wanda get you in her hands?”

“Oh, Natasha did the worst,” you explain and get up to hug him. B’s long, lanky arms feel like tentacles around you, but in a comfortable way.

“Where’s C?”, you ask.

“Sleeping. She had training in the morning and it didn’t work out the way it should. You know how the medicine makes her sleepy?”

You sigh. Project C57, or C for short, was your daughter. While B’s powers were more on the easily controllable side, his mischievous character was his biggest flaw. But C had been the only one who had survived the same treatment Dr. Banner had gone through and her powers were hard to control.

She saw you as her mother, which made it easier for you to calm her down, but you weren’t around all the time.

Another door opens and a girl you don’t know pops her head out.

“Y/N? We are ready for you now.”

“Don’t wait for me,” you tell B, kiss his cheek and walk through the door, ready for the worst hour of your life. And that didn’t come lightly from someone who had gone through torture.


	2. Chapter 2

“I am very happy to have you here with me,” the interviewer, who had introduced herself as Christine Everhart, was smiling at you. She seemed to be nice, but you couldn’t fight the feeling that you did not want to be friends with her. But your feelings could also be misled by the amount of makeup that had been caked on your face. You weren’t even sure if you could smile without chunks of it dropping off your skin.

“Thank you,” you say, unable to lie and tell her that you’re happy too.

“Now, most of us already know the heroic story of how you became part of the Avenger’s, but would you tell it again, for the sake of our readers?”

“Sure,” you bite your lip, “where should I start?”

“Oh, at the very beginning. You are the adoptive mother of Agent B and C, known to us as Karma and Crazy Kid. But how did you meet them?”

You can’t help to chuckle at the names the kids had picked for them, or rather, that B had picked for them. One day he would surely stop thinking that Crazy Kid was the coolest name ever, but today wasn’t the day.

“Well, I met them at the nightleaf lab’s. They were some of the few human experiments that worked and were supposed to become supervillains someday, but we clicked instantly and found a way to flee. We got separated, but found back together as we were looking for help to bring nightleaf down.”

“Is it true that only you and Crazy Kid made it out of the lab at first?”

“Yes. But even though we got separated, we knew what we had to do. I went to New York to recruit the Avengers, while B went and got help from a superhero called Ant Man.”

“And as soon as you got reunited, you joined the Avengers with your children to make sure they had a good influence.”

“Exactly, although it’s not that easy. It’s one thing to make sure they know what’s the right thing to do. Having superpowers is like being a toddler trying to walk. You run into some things.”

Christine laughs at that comparison. “We saw that. But you are working on it, am I right?”

You’re surprised out that question. It’s almost too easy to answer.

“Err, yes, yes we are. We have a safe environment where they can train their powers without hurting anyone, as well as emergency plans if something goes wrong. And I always tell them that a building can be rebuilt, but humans have to be protected.”

“You sure have a lot of influence on them. Does that stem from your time working with them at nightleaf?”

“Oh, I didn’t work with them,” you start to explain only to realize the trap you’ve just run into. You close your mouth, trying to think of the right way to answer it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone taking pictures of you and try to smile for the camera. But Christine did not get her job for nothing.

“How did you get to know them then, if you weren’t working with them? I have done my research, but there are some big holes. We know that nightleaf recruited teenagers from orphanages, but there’s no record of your recruitment. How did you end up there?”

“I don’t remember,” you answer and that is the truth, “They have a record of using brainwash medication to delete memories.”

“But you do remember your time there?”

“Not a lot of it, no,” you answer truthfully, now perched on the edge of your seat. One more question you’re not prepared for and you’re out of here.”

“What do you remember?” She asks, something sounding like compassion audible in her voice.

You stare through her, your mind going right back to the time you’re trying to forget. Your memories blind you like the headlight of a car turning the corner at night. You swallow and look for words that will make this questioning stop.

“Sometimes I shared a room with the kids, sometimes I saw them when we could take a walk outside. C used to be scared of thunder when we got to know each other. They gave her medication so she wouldn’t hulk out, but it did nothing against her super hearing. Maybe that was what made us bond.”

“If you shared a room with other experiments, did they experiment on you too?” Christine asks and her voice is so soft, you almost don’t register the words until you do.

“That’s enough,” you tell her, your face blank, your voice cold, “You will not ask more questions that we did not agree on.”

She blinks in surprise as you get up but you don’t let her talk her way out of it.

“You got what you wanted. If you want to talk to the kid’s, you will have me there with them, making sure you’re not having your way. Are we clear?”

“We are,” she says through clenched teeth and you nod and walk out of the room, glad that this will only be printed on paper. There’s not enough room to turn your words on you that way. Or so you hoped.

Word must have gotten out about your mood because for once you could stay in your room without getting disturbed. This time, you wouldn’t have minded a break from your thoughts though as you debated going to Fury and pressing charges on Christine.

But she did not have anything she could use against you, right?

You set back on your bed, determined to calm down, but nothing would help. You were too fidgety to do anything but tie yourself into your one and only Yoga Pose, the Pretzel and when you closed your eyes, you could feel memories tingling right below the surface. There, but untouchable.

Finally, you cracked and stepped out of your room, not to meet up with the others for dinner, but to go up to the roof.

Looking down at the city usually helped you think and as you knew that Hawkeye liked to be up high, the possibility of meeting him there had always been an included bonus. Even though you had not met him there so far.

You were alone today as well, but it did not matter. The skyline made you feel calmer instantly. You were in New York now, far, far away from the nightleaf lab’s, far away from your past.

When you closed your eyes this time, you felt the wind in your hair and the memories that bubbled up felt distant. They didn’t hurt, more as if they were someone else’s.


	3. Chapter 3

C52 curled up on the floor because her massive frame did not fit into your bed. You stroking her hair, soft touches and mumbled words, calming her down.  
Thunder cracking around you, a low sound for you, terribly loud in C’s ears.  
B’s eyes are locked on you, glowing in the dark of the room you share today.  
He does not speak, but you can feel his wariness without him having to say it out loud.  
The funny thing is, you realize now, that you never spoke about it. He never asked, you never answered. But you still trust each other with your life, now maybe more than then.

You’re sitting in a chair, a thick blanket draped over you. The fabric is cool on your skin and you can see a hole in it where an IV is stuck in your arm. The liquid has a faint red color and burns it’s way through your body, washing away the time.

You never got far with pondering your thoughts then, you remember now, just know that this liquid managed to make you forget things. Everything but the basic things. Self-control. Breathing. That one Yoga Pose someone thought you when you got there.

But when exactly did you get into nightleaf?

When you left with B, all files had been destroyed as safety measures. It was hard enough finding the trail that led to C. Maybe you had been from an orphanage as well, but if you had gotten there as a teenager…

That made just too many years you’d never get back.

“Hey, here you are…” You jump at the voice and turn, steadying yourself on the thick railing.

Clint is smiling at you. “Everyone’s having dinner and no one wanted to come up here, so they sent me.”

“Afraid of the height or afraid of me?” You ask and he looks at the skyline.

“Well, unless you’re threatening to throw them over the edge it must be the height. You’re coming? Steve made Spaghetti. The good kind.”

“I’m not that hungry,” you answer truthfully.

“Yeah, interview’s can do that to you,” Clint says, “Everhart has the habit of chewing you up until you’re not even sure about your own opinion. There’s a reason I always hide in the vents when she’s around.”

You laugh at that. Can’t help yourself.

“Before I come down… I wanted to ask you how that discussion with Tony worked today. Did you get the TV?”

“Oh, you heard that? Well, he said I can have it if I move in, so I reminded him that the kids use my room to hang out when they need some alone time.”

“Did that work?”

“Absolutely. Now you just need to remind them to use the TV once in a while to make my lie sound believable.”

“Oh, they will definitely use it, don’t worry about that.” You laugh, look down at the city one last time and get up from the floor. “You know what? A bit spaghetti won’t hurt, I think.”

“I agree. But you should hurry, Thor’s around and you know how hungry he gets.”

Maybe you’re just stressing over nothing, you think as you step into the elevator next to Clint. You haven’t said anything she could use against you. And no one believes that kind of gossip anyway, right?

-

Two days later you’ve almost forgotten the interview.

You get up early for a morning run. You’ve started just at the same time as Sam and Steve, but by now you can barely make out Sam in the distance and you have no idea where Steve has run to.

By now you’re so used to it that you have no problem with stopping when you feel like, picking up a cup of coffee and the newspapers. You stop to buy the Daily Bugle as well as you’ve done the days before. You somewhat hope that this will be a false alarm as well. You could use another day to prepare yourself mentally for the dreaded interview.

But you can read it there, right on the front page.

“Avengers uncovered. Exclusive insight on the mother of two heroes.”

You throw your coffee in the trash and flip through the pages until you find it. Panic settles in and you have to find the nearest bench to sit and calm down before you can read it.

It starts out okay, but the farther you read, the worse you feel. You can’t pinpoint it, but the way she writes out your answers it feels like she’s understood you wrong. Deliberately.

And then it ends abruptly and you don’t know how, but she’s managed to convey the fact that you’ve stood up and left. But not like you’re defending yourself, more like you’re running away from questions you should have answered.

And to top it off, she wrote an end note that makes you freeze with fear.

“To conclude it, there’s much we still don’t know about Y/N. How long has she been captured at nightleaf lab? And has she really been captured or rather employed? With her unwilling to stand up for questioning, we can only assume. Loving mother or supervisor? An undercover hero or a failed experiment? We can only hope that time will answer.”

You stare at those questions, only able to answer the last two.

You sit there for a full two minutes until you realize that you’re not the only one who has access to this paper now. And there’s a tower full of people you don’t want to have access to this.

You call Friday on your phone on your way back.

“Is the Daily Bugle accessible via internet?”

“Affirmative.”

“Please block it. I can’t have anyone in the tower read that.”

“I can block the site, but the paper will still be available to buy.”

“Can’t help that,” you sigh, “Just block it please.”

Just as you end the call, you get a message from C.

You’re hesitant to open it, but let out a breath of relief as you read it anyway.

“Can you please join the training session today? I’ve tried it without you for a few times now but always need medication. Don’t want to use that for a change.”

“Coming,” you write back and step into the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

When you step into the giant training level, B is already sparring with Natasha.  
You never tire of watching him. He’s flexible, fast and bulletproof. What more could you want?  
“You want to train too?” Natasha asks as she stops the session to reload her gun.  
“Nah,” you wave it off with a forced smile, “I’m not into fighting.”  
“You could do some Yoga instead, Mom,” B quips, “learn more than one pose.”  
“I am fine with the Pretzel, thanks,” you tell him and turn when the door opens.

Clint walks in, followed by C. You go and hug her and feel a little bit bad doing so, knowing you’re not in it with your whole heart, but hoping this training session will keep them from thinking about the article.

“Alright, Crazy Kid.” Clint nocks an arrow, “Let’s see if we can rile up your friend.”

C groans. “Maybe we should do some Yoga first.”

“Oh, come on,” you take her arm, “I’m here if anything happens. You know you can do it.”

She swallows dryly and looks back at you and as if he’s pulling courage from that, she steps up to start the training.

You stand by, as you usually do and somehow it seems that seeing you there helps C to keep her pulse down and her temper in check.

Half an hour later you pull C out of training and do some Pilates with her. Natasha joins in quickly, as well as Wanda, while B keeps doing cartwheels around Clint.

It feels just like every other day, except for the guilt in the back of your head.

When it’s time for lunch, you’ve eased into the feeling of suppression.

Nothing is going to happen, no one will see the article, no one is really interested in the Daily Bugle…

But when you step into the dining room, Agent Hill is standing right next to it, a tablet in her hand and a serious look on her face.

“Y/N,” she says, “Mr. Fury wants to talk to you.”

You don’t bother to check if there are really all eyes on you, just follow her.

And just as the last time you had to speak directly to Fury, he terrifies you. In a good way, but he still terrifies you.

“What are your answers to this questions?” He asks halfway in your conversation. “I thought we already know a lot about you, but those questions should better be answered.”

“I can only answer the last two,” you tell him, “Everything else has been erased.”

“Supervisor?” Fury asks and you shake your head. “Mother, through and through.”

“And about the experiments…”

“They worked,” you answer, your voice so quiet you can barely hear it yourself, “But I vowed to myself to never use it. I have it under control and if controlling it is the only thing I will ever do for the rest of my life, I’ve done a great service to the world.”

“I am afraid I still have to know what power you possess.”

You stare at him, unable to speak.

He sighs and gets out of his chair, walks around his table and leans against it so that he’s directly next to you.

“I understand you,” he says, “But in the position that I’m in, I have to know it.”

“Will you throw me out of the tower if I don’t tell you?”

“That wouldn’t help you trust me.”

“Why would you need to know anyway?” You ask, “I can only come up with two reasons. To be able to stop me if I turned rogue or to be able to use me in a situation that you feel requires my help.”

“And what do you have against that reasons?”

“I’d rather kill myself than turn rogue. And there will simply never be a reason to require my help. My help is not letting this power loose.”

Fury stares into your eyes. It feels just like the first time you were here and just like then you feel determination surging through you.

Finally, he nods. “I understand. But this Interview has turned into more of a problem than actual help.”

“Shouldn’t have made me do it in the first place,” you quip and flinch at your own words.

“Go,” Fury says, “And don’t make a mistake like that again.”

Instead of going to Lunch, you take the elevator up to the roof and wait. Someone is surely going to find you here if they need to. And if not, you have your phone with you.

But you can’t stay inside right now, not with everything going on. You need the wind cooling down your face.

-

You stay up there until it’s time for dinner, then your hunger gets the best of you and you decide that sometimes, attacking is the best defense you get.

As you step into the dining room, you look at the ones that have already gathered.

“So,” you ask, “who has read the article?”

“What article?” Sam asks while Steve looks away - a clear sign of a guilty mind.

“You mean the one Friday was banned from showing online?” Tony says as he moves past you to get another cup of coffee, “Next time just come to me. Christine and I are… how did Peter call it last week? Right, we’re Frenemies. Also, she hates superheroes.”

“Yeah, but she isn’t a superhero, right?” Sam quips and you take a seat as you feel your knees get weak. Maybe you’re still not ready for this talk after all.

You’re just glad that the kids aren’t here yet.

“What does make a person a superhero anyway?” You mumble, but apparently not quiet enough.

“That’s easy, powers,” someone says behind you.

“Not true,” Sam disagrees and you can see Rhodey nodding in approval next to him.

You feel sick and grab a piece of bread from the plate before you, biting down on it and savoring the taste.

“Didn’t mean to insult you, or myself, anyway, but as far as Christine is concerned, he’s right,” Tony quips and you take another piece of bread to keep your focus. There are too many people around you.

“And Y/N has no powers, so-”

“But if she has no powers, why did they keep her around?” Rhodey asks and that question flips a switch inside you. You jump out of your chair.

“I gotta go.”

Nat steps into your way, eyes kind, but mouth a determined line.

“It’s just… that’s an important question.”

“Why?” You ask, desperation seeping into your voice, “You know me.”

Everyone falls silent and you curse the fact that you’ve never been able to lie.

“Fine,” you say, “Fury already knows anyway. I will answer this one question.” You take a deep breathe and keep your eyes on Natasha’s to keep yourself from looking around. You don’t want to see anyone else, don’t want to know if a special someone is there too.

“I have powers, I keep them under control. There’s nothing more to it.”

You can hear someone gasp, but Natasha is a spy for a reason. Her face remains passive.

“What powers are we talking about?” That’s Tony.

“I answered one question and that’s enough,” you say, feeling the same determination in you that you had felt in Fury’s office. “Now let me through.”

Natasha steps aside and you walk straight to your room where you order comfort food, determined to not step into the hall before this thing, whatever it is, has cleared.


	5. Chapter 5

You’ve just finished stuffing your face and set the rest aside for tomorrow morning - sometimes leftovers are the best breakfast choice - when the door to your room opens.

C looks at least a little bit apologetic while B has no problem with barging into your room and slipping into bed next to you.

You sigh and pat the empty space on the other side of you for C to come closer. She doesn’t hesitate.

“So we heard the news,” B says as C grabs the remote and switches channels to the show the three of you adore. It was a rerun, but you didn’t mind.

“And?”

“We kinda knew,” C says, her eyes big as she looks up to you, “I mean, you wouldn’t have been in a room with us for some other reason, right?”

“Yeah,” B says, “But we figured your power was to calm us down, you know? Like, there’s this girl in the movies who can do that, like, emotional manipulation.”

“That’s not my power,” you say, “Not that it matters what my power is.”

“You can control it, right?” C asks, “That’s why you decide to leave it be. And when I can control my temper, I can leave it be too.”

“If you want to.”

She smiles instead of answering.

“I think that’s boring,” B pushes your leg with his knee to get your attention back, “You could, like, save lives. Or get a cool superhero name.”

“Ever thought that I could be saving more lives not using my power? And what’s in a name anyway? I’m already the “Hero Mom”. It can’t get better from here on.”

He wants to disagree but you give him the best Mom-Look you can muster. He quiets down after that.

-

When you wake up, it’s dark outside. You carefully slip out of the hold the kids have gotten on you while you were all asleep. You check your phone for the time, but it’s still closer to midnight then morning and you’re way to amped to get back to bed.

It feels weird but soothing to walk the hallways at this hour. Friday lights up the path for you, the light dimmed enough for you to get used to it.

You stop in the kitchen and stare in confusion at the coffee machine that’s missing its pot. You check the dishwasher, but there’s no sign of it.

“Fine. No coffee,” you tell yourself and look through the fridge for something else, picking some fruit juice.

You take the elevator to the top level and step out on the roof, only to see Clint sitting there, sipping coffee from the missing pot. 

“Oh,” you say, “I… I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Can’t sleep?” Clint asks, before you can turn around. 

“Yeah, that too,” you say, now unsure. You’d like spending some time with him, but you don’t want to intrude. 

“Fruit juice helps?”

“No,” you shake your head to get yourself together, “I wanted coffee but the pot was gone.”

“Oh,” he looks down at the pot that’s already half empty, “I’d give you a sip, but then I wouldn’t have enough for myself.”

You laugh at that and walk over to him. “Mind if I sit, then? I promise I won’t talk, I just want to enjoy the view.”

“Sure thing.”

You sit there in silence for probably twenty minutes, both of you drinking and looking down at the city.

The view is almost more breathtaking at night, with all the twinkling lights.

When the orange juice is empty and your bladder starts begging you to get up, you break the silence.

“Did you hear about the article too?”

“What?” He looks at you as if he had been deep in thought.

“The article. Natasha probably told you about it, right?”

“Oh, yeah, she did.” He nods and lifts the coffee pot to his lips, only to pout when he realizes that there’s no more coffee inside. “Aww, coffee, no.”

“And?” You ask, needing to get this out of the way. You’re not exactly proud of it, but his opinion matters to you. A little bit more than necessary even.

“And what?”

You stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. Either he’s playing dumb or he’s really not getting the whole vibe of curiosity that has been going through the tower.

“You don’t want to know what my superpower is?”

He stops staring into the coffee pot and looks at you.

“Should I want to know?”

That deflates you.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, tell me if you do.” He gets up, “I gotta get more coffee.”

“You know that isn’t exactly healthy.”

“You know you’re not my mom,” he quips and you smile, reminded of a very similar conversation you had held your first week at the tower.

-

You’ve always known that every Avenger is different. They’re not clones, after all. But, as you are about to find out, they seem to share one thing: Curiosity.

How they try to get to know your secret is a whole different thing, however.

You’re hesitant to step into the kitchen, stopping at the door to see who’s inside first. No one. Two steps in, the sound of an air horn rips through the silence of the room, making you jump into the air. Your heart is racing as you turn to look at the source.

“Friday,” you ask when you can finally catch your breath, “What was that?”

“Secret protocol.”

“Please override that.”

“Denied.”

“By whose orders?”

“Mr. Stark.”

You get what he’s trying to do. But scaring you hasn’t worked and you’re glad. It’s good to know that even after all that time you’ve still got enough control over your powers.

You are more cautious as you open the fridge and make breakfast, but nothing happens, lulling you in a false sense of security.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony Stark is a genius. But he’s a jerk even more.  
You had no idea how he had done it, but he had managed to make this the worst day possible for you. There were air horns or other terribly loud sounds that came out of nowhere and the half hour you actually manage to get a bit studying done for night school, the room started to vibrate, making you think there was an earthquake going on.  
Come dinner time, you had enough.  
You marched into the living room with enough determination to simply ignore the air horn going off. Tony stood at the counter, a glass in hand, smiling at you.  
“So scary thinks don’t do the trick, huh?” He asked.  
That’s when you lost it.

Slapping him hurt you probably more than him, but his cheek started turning red and the burning sensation in your hand felt good.

“Are you out of your damn mind? What were you thinking?!”

“Were you trying to make her lose control?” Steve asked behind you.

“Oh, shut up!” You groaned, before realizing that he was actually trying to help you, “Shit, I mean, sorry, Steve, you’re right.”

You turned back to Tony who was already back to smiling and put your index finger on his chest.

“Do something like that again and I will kill you.”

It was an empty threat, but it did not sound like one. He swallowed dryly and you turned around to leave.

-

You needed a place to cool down and the only place that could do that trick was the rooftop.

This time, Bruce was sent to find you.

Whoever thought that it was a good idea to send him up to the roof was beyond you. The way he was clutching the doorframe and sending you pleading looks made him look like a scared puppy.

You walk over to him and close the door to spare him the sight. He relaxes immediately.

“You made quite an impression on Tony,” he explains, “And the others as well. They promised not to try anything similar again.”

You sigh. “But they still want to know what my power is.”

“Try to see it from their point of view,” he says, “You’ve been here for six months now and we hardly know you, just that you want to do good and that you love your kids. Now this big topic of you having powers comes up and maybe, just maybe, they hope you’ll open up.”

“I just want to be left in peace,” you wrap your arms around you, looking down the staircase to avoid looking at him. He knows how to make puppy dog eyes.

“I’m afraid that’s not that easy. Would you agree with them simply guessing? That way it would be a harmless game that will surely lose it’s fun. And,you know, you could just open up. Tell them.”

“I won’t agree to anything,” you tell him and he sighs.

“I’m warning you,” he says, “They can get pretty intense. They mean well, but they don’t know boundaries. I know. I’ve been through it.” ´

He stops, breathes and turns to you again. “On a completely different note, could you give me a hair sample of you?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you tell him as you step out onto the roof again, sure that here he won’t follow you.

-

Two days later you realize that he hasn’t been all that wrong.

You have to avoid Natasha and Wanda because the first one is trying to steal DNA samples from you and the second can actually read minds.

Which sucks, because you felt like you and Natasha were starting to get close. And Wanda is actually your only female friend in here. Who else are you gonna talk to about Clint? Somehow it had always been easier to figure him and your feelings out when you were lying on her bed, talking to her.

Sam is texting you questions, like, non-stop. You’re pretty sure that wouldn’t stop even if you would agree to the guessing limit because all he does is ask. The fact that he can actually fly doesn’t seem to tamper his desire to know about your powers.

For now, the kids are still on your side. But you can see B’s mischievous side coming through. He wants to help. More importantly, he wants to prank someone and if that someone is you, he won’t hesitate much longer.

-

“Fine,” you yell as you step into the kitchen one morning, your left leg wet from the latest prank, confetti in your hair from the one they pulled last night.

“Fine,” you repeat, “I give in. I allow you to guess, but nothing more than that. And if I get pranked one more time, I’m moving out.”

“You’re not moving out,” Tony says without looking up, “You have no job.”

“Fine, I’m not moving out, but I’m gonna make a point to spit into every single cup of coffee that I can find.”

Even the kids pull a face at that, but you have enough and if letting them guess will help you sleep better at night, so be it. You don’t have to give them an honest answer anyway.

“Can you fly?” Sam asks, bursting out with the very first question he had sent you.

You shrug. “Maybe.”

He gasps at that.

“I said maybe, not sure!”

“Can you turn into a lizard monster that eats us in our sleep?” C asks and you send her a worried glance. She shrugs. “We saw a movie about that. Just want to make sure.”

“I would never eat you while you sleep,” you tell her and B leans across the table, suddenly very interested.

“But you can turn into a lizard monster?”

“Maybe,” you say and grab yourself a coffee, “But first, I have to turn into a clean human being again.”

When you step out of the shower, Wanda’s sitting on your bed.

“You could have knocked,” you tell her, grab your clothes from the chair and move back into the bathroom to dress. You don’t like being naked in front of others.

“Would you have let me in?” She asks back.

“Probably not,” you tell her honestly, “I’m too afraid you’re going to look into my head.”

“Would that be so terrible?” You can’t see her, but you know how her face must look like know. There’s too much understanding in her voice, “I was once an experiment too.”

“Do you remember everything from that time?” You ask.

“Yes, I do.”

“See,” you step out of the bathroom, “That’s where we are different. I don’t remember a lot and what I remember makes me scared of all the things I don’t know anymore. Blocking it might not be the healthiest or the easiest way nowadays, but it’s the best.”

“Who says you would have to use your powers?”

“Oh please,” you let yourself fall into your chair, facing her, “You’ve seen them. Like they would be satisfied with a simple answer. I would have to show them. And it’s like a snowball or the first time you use a drug. You can’t stop.”

She is silent for a while before she clasps her hands together.

“I don’t understand, but I accept it. I promise I will not look into your head and I promise you can always come and talk to me about missing memories and everything else. I will not ask questions, just let you do the talking… Just, don’t ignore me, okay?””

“Okay,” you say, an honest smile on your face.

“Anything you want to talk about now?”

Your smile broadens. “Yeah. Clint.”

Wanda groans, grabs your pillow and throws it at you. “Not again.”

The pillow smacks you right in the face and falls into your lap.

“What?”

“What are we gonna talk about today? How great he is? How you can’t understand what exactly makes him so great? Or how I should definitely look into your head and try to figure out your feelings for you?”

“No head looking.”

“Not necessary,” Wanda quips back, “You’re in l-”

“Don’t say the word,” you stop her, “Don’t even think it. It’s a cursed word.”

“You’re a cursed word,” she throws back at you, a rather lame insult. You chuckle and she starts laughing as well.

“At least this has stayed the same,” you say, smiling at her.


	7. Chapter 7

That night, you find yourself awake in the middle of the night again and decide to go up to the roof right away.

“I’m not hoping that he’s there,” you tell yourself, even making a point in avoiding the kitchen on your way to the top.

But when you step out onto the roof, there’s no one there and you can’t deny yourself the truth. You are disappointed.

“Because we are friends,” you try to tell yourself as you make your way to where you usually sit, “And I haven’t seen him around this week, in a friendly way, I mean, so I’m worried.”

You stare down at the twinkling city and allow yourself a heavy sigh.

“Who am I kidding?” You mumble, “I’m talking to myself because I don’t even believe my own thoughts. Pathetic.”

The door creaks behind you and you turn around, expecting some belated prank.

But it’s Clint, who is stepping out onto the roof, waving a filled coffee pot at you.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” He asks and you smile and pat the place next to you.

Or wait, was that too forward?

It’s too late to take it back now, but he’s already coming your way, plopping down beside you.

“You want some?” He asks and raises the coffee pot, “I made more in case you were unable to sleep again.”

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”

“Easy,” he quips as he pulls a rather beat up mug out of his pocket and holds it out for you to take, “More coffee for me.”

You laugh at that. “I should say something about your coffee intake, but I’m just gonna be thankful you actually thought of me.”

“Right choice,” he pours you coffee and clinks his pot against your mug.

You don’t know if it has been just one minute or way more that you’re sitting there, sipping your coffee, looking out at the city, when you dare to bring up the thought that’s been going around in your head.

“I haven’t seen you around, lately,” you don’t look at him as you speak.

“Yeah, I’ve been on a mission. That and I needed to paint the staircase.”

“A whole staircase? Isn’t that, like, a lot of work? I can’t remember ever painting anything, but it seems to be a lot of work.”

“Oh, it is. Took me three tries to get it right without a paw print on the steps.”

“Cat’s?”

“Nah, a dog. Nothing against the furry little monsters, but they happen to hate me. Or maybe that’s just the supervillains in cat costumes.”

“There are supervillains in cat costumes?” You ask, incredulous, “Where would you even get that?”

“Buy a cheap Catwoman costume and you’re set. Wait, you do know Catwoman, right?”

You shake your head. “Is it a movie? Because the only movies I’ve seen since I’ve come here are documentaries. Steve has made it his mission to introduce the three of us to the world of today.”

“Steve? Well, ain’t he the perfect man for that job. I’m gonna tell Nat to make you watch it. I, personally, hate the movies, but it’s a classic.”

“What do you watch then?”

“Dog Cops,” he answers without hesitation, “It’s, like, the best series in the world. Dog’s who are Cops, solve Crime and look good doing so.”

“That does sound…,” you look for a word that could describe it, “interesting, I think. I can’t imagine what that looks like, but I’ll take your word for its quality.”

“Right choice.”

The two of you fall silent again. It’s a comfortable silence, one that does not need to be filled with words. Once or twice a question pops up in your head, but even though you’re interested in an answer, it doesn’t feel worth it to break the moment.

As you take your last gulp of already lukewarm coffee, it’s Clint who speaks up.

“How does this work?”

“What?” You look at him, but he’s staring out into the night, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it for a while now, but how does it work to not remember… anything?”

The question takes you by surprise, especially with everyone asking about your power lately.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him, “What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what my mind produces when I try to remember something. Or when people mention stuff that I should know, probably. There’s just… nothing. Everything I do remember takes me by surprise, though. And I’m never really sure about it.”

“For example?”

“I saw a woman yesterday that reminded me of someone. Could have been my mother, someone working at nightleaf or just someone I’ve seen before. Or the fact that I remember a cupcake recipe but can’t remember ever making some.”

“Ooh, cupcakes, you should totally make some.”

You laugh at that, marveling how simple it is to feel at ease around him.

“Do you think you’ll ever remember everything?” He asks, suddenly serious again, “Because I guess there are things you don’t want to remember.”

“I don’t think they are lost,” you say, surprised at how true it feels for something you’ve just thought about now, “The memories, I mean. It’s like my brain is a giant mansion and the memories are hidden away in rooms I haven’t even thought about entering. Every time I see something that connects, it’s like a room is opened. And I don’t really have a choice about what is in that room.”

“You could just, like, lock yourself in a room for the rest of your life. That’s what I would do, at least.”

“Would be my choice too, if not for the kids,” you admit and for the first time that night, you two lock eyes. You can see something in his, something that goes beyond understanding and accepting. He might have led a different life, but he knows exactly how you feel.

The wailing sound of a fire truck destroys the moment and you lean back.

“If you ever need a place to hide away, tell me,” Clint says, not looking at you, his voice suddenly hoarse as if it takes him a lot of courage to say the offer out loud, “I’ve got some great places for that.”

“Thanks. I might actually come back at you,” You answer quietly and the two of you fall silent again until the sun starts to lighten up the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I mention Steve’s Girlfriend in this one and if you want to get to know her, you can read about it in the best Steve Fic I’ve read so far: [ **Even the Smallest**](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/168753951310/even-the-smallest-masterlist) by @eufeme

Wanda makes you do sit-ups. It’s pure torture, but she has promised to help you learn for that pop quiz later.

Also, it’s supposed to make you stop worrying too much and it helps. You can’t think about anything else but the pain in your muscles.

“One more,” Wanda slaps your knees and smiles as you come up, “And one more.”

“Not fair! We’ve already done, like, one hundred or so.”

“We haven’t even met fifty, so keep going,” she quips back, “And you wanted to be the one to get in shape.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“In that case, it’s good that I do. Oh, hi Nat, you’re here early.”

You let out a groan that was supposed to be a greeting. Nat slaps your knee as well.

“You’re training her? What was the motivation?”

“Don’t - ugh - tell - hnngh - her,” you push out, but Wanda waves you off.

“She wanted to get into shape and if I have to suffer helping her with school stuff, she will have to suffer too.”

You should have known that she would never rat you out. Not even to Natasha, local matchmaker. Speaking of matchmaking… You stop to look up at the redhead.

“Did you speak to Steve’s girlfriend yet? The one in PR?”

“Has he more than that one?” Nat quips, “Yeah, I spoke to her. She’s not amused about that interview, but she’s working on it.”

“Can I do something to make it up to her?”

“She loves food,” Wanda brings up and you groan, “I can make cupcakes. Does she like cupcakes?”

“Ask Steve, he should know,” Nat slaps your knee again, “Now get up, you’re training with me.”

“What?” You look at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“Yeah, you haven’t stepped on the mat once since you’ve come here. And training is mandatory if you’re part of the Avengers.”

“Since when am I a part of them? I’m just the Mom.”

Natasha opens her mouth to answer when the door is smashed open behind you.

“I get to fight with her,” Sam bellows, “It was my idea.”

You turn your head to see him marching over.

“Get up, Y/N, “We’re fighting.”

“I don’t fight.”

“Yeah and you don’t have powers,” Sam sasses you, “Now up.”

“I really don’t fight,” you try to explain, but he won’t believe you, nor does Natasha.

“Wanda? Help?”

“Just play along,” she tells you, “And Sam, take it easy on her… Y/N, you could really learn how to defend yourself. It might be necessary sometime.”

“But I don’t want to fight,” you try one last time but Sam has already pulled you on the mat and is doing this weird fist-up-hopping-around-thing fighters seem to do.

His left fist shoots out and you jump back, but not far enough. Pain erupts in the middle of your face and your arms shoot up, your hands clutching your nose as tears well up in your eyes. “Ouch! That hurt!”

Sam just stands there, looking at you like you’re the one with two heads now.

“Don’t you know how to sidestep, woman?” He asks and you try to glare at him which is hard when you still have pain-tears in your eyes.

“Does it look like I do?” You ask back, “I think you broke my nose.”

It’s Wanda who pulls your hands away to look at your nose, stating that nothing is broken.

It’s Sam who runs to get you an ice pack.

But it’s Natasha who looks at you, hands at her hips and declares that from now on you have to take lessons.

You don’t seem to have a choice but you had at least thought you’d get a day or two to get used to that idea, but no. Natasha pulls you up to the mat just five minutes after that first terrible time.

By the time the kid’s arrive she’s done with you.

You’re not sure if you’ve learned anything besides the fact that even thick mats are very hard when you fall down.

“So you don’t have an offensive power?” Sam asks as he watches Nat fight against B.

“That’s what this was all about?” You ask, “Thanks for the pain, then.”

-

That evening, you barely make it to your class. Which would be something to be ashamed off, because when Tony let you go back to school, he made the whole class gather in the tower. Apparently because of security, but it would have been nice to get out of the building for once.

But today even taking the elevator to get to a different level proves to be difficult. And with your muscles hurting like this now you aren’t sure if you even want to wake up the next morning.

-

On paper, this whole night school thing isn’t even necessary.

Your fake ID comes with a whole fake education, but that does nothing to your memory or rather the lack of it. Even B could remember more school stuff than you did and he didn’t even care to remember. The only reason he gets good grades is to be able to help you with homework. Embarrassing, but sweet nonetheless.

“Okay, class. Homework is reading this book until next week.” A picture flashes up on the big screen on the front of the class.

‘Firestarter’ by Stephen King, you read and scribble it down so you can download it later.

“A summary and characterization of at least one character are due in two weeks. Give me more and do it faster for extra credit. Class dismissed.”

“What’s the book about?” One of your colleagues asks.

“Google says it’s about a pyrokinetic girl,” Maa, the class’ popular girl, answers, waving her phone in the air.

“Pyrokinetic?”

“Fire,” you say before you can stop yourself, “That’s the ability to set objects or people on fire with your mind.”

Maa looks at you, obviously surprised that you’ve dared to speak up. You’re surprised yourself, but the word had just popped into your mouth on its own.

“Well, sounds cool,” Maa says, turning away from you and you take the hint and leave as quickly as your hurting legs will let you.


	9. Chapter 9

“What are you reading?”

You set the flashlight down and look up to Clint.

“It’s called Firestarter. We have to read it for school.”

“Oh, the night school, right? How’s it going?”

“Awful,” you admit and he laughs and takes his seat next to you.

“What? No coffee?”

“No, it’s too early for coffee,” he says and pulls two bottles from behind his back, “Before midnight we drink beer.”

“Never had beer,” you say and he clicks his tongue at you before he opens the bottles on the edge of the bench, handing you one.

You take a sip and freeze, a memory washing over you like a wave that’s just a bit too big.

“Pass me a bottle,” a girl with dreadlocks calls out and waves her hand in your face. She must be around fifteen, but she opens the bottle like she’s already done it too many times before. She hands it back to you and takes another one to open while to take the first sip. It’s disgusting, you think, but you take another sip, not wanting to be an outsider in this little group.

“Cheers,” the dreadlocked girl says, her bottle hitting yours, “Let’s drink on the fact we have another foster couple we get something to drink from.”

“Y/N?” You flinch, the memory fading to the background, allowing you to focus on Clint again, “You okay?”

“Yeah, No, I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just remembered something…”

“Drinking beer?”

“Yeah,” You look down at the bottle, “I think I was fifteen, lived with foster parents. Stole the beer to get friends.”

“Sounds like a memory from me. So you were hanging with the wrong people, huh?”

“How do you know?” You ask, “I didn’t even remember their name.”

“You steel beer. You drink underage. Both considered a crime. Foster parents find out, you get kicked out and get into juvie. And from there on its history. That’s where nightleaf recruited.”

“Wow,” you say, “I’m not sure but I think that’s good news.”

He chuckles. “Explain.”

“Well, at least now I know that I didn’t join them as an adult. I mean, I obviously had an awful time growing up and puberty was a literal nightmare at the lab, but at least I never joined them willingly. I just… never left.” Your voice quiets down at the last words.

Clint reaches out and for a moment you think he’s going to take your hand so you pull yours away. He pats your shoulder instead before clinking his bottle against yours.

“Let’s drink to the fact that you managed to get out of there. Nightleaf is history.”

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, “It is.”

-

“You know they made a movie about this, Mom?” B asks the next morning when you are both snuggled up in bed, you determined to skip that training session Nat had ordered you to take with her.

He’s snuck into your room around sunrise, trying to get you to believe that he’s just bored. It takes him a bit, but when he’s snuggled into one of the extra blankets you have, his face pressed against your shoulders, he’s told you about the nightmare he’s had.

Until right now, you had been reading your favorite bits of the book to him. He’s fascinated by it, but he also desperately wants to get up and running.

“The movie is always different. We can watch it as soon as I’m finished with the book, okay?”

“Yeah, but you have a week to finish it. Can’t you read after training? I’ll even carry you to the kitchen.”

“I’ll only get up if you carry me to the kitchen and the gym.”

“Can we take the elevator?”

“Fine.”

“Fine, get dressed.” He races out your bedroom and you close the book with a sigh. So much for skipping training.

-

“How about psychic?” Tony asks as he dips a finger into the bowl of frosting.

You slap his hand but he smirks and licks the frosting off his finger nonetheless.

“Maybe,” you answer vaguely and put frosting on the next cupcake, “Stop stealing my frosting.”

“But it tastes so good. Oh wait, do you have a secret cooking power? We could use some manipulating Lasagna.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, “Let me just cook up my love potion onion rings.”

“Who’s making onion rings?” Clint asks from where he had been dozing off on the couch.

“No one,” you tell him, embarrassed that he had heard that.

“Aww, no,” he mumbles and falls back asleep.

“You know that guessing is no fun if you answer vaguely all the time, right?” Tony asks and steals one of the finished cupcakes, jumping out of your reach as you try to slap his hand again.

“Oh, but how else could I get back at you for trying to find out a secret I want to keep?” You ask, your voice now passive-aggressive.

“Alright, alright,” he waves the cupcake around, “I’ll give you some space.”

He leaves the kitchen humming something under his breath and you put frosting on the last cupcake, breathing as deeply as you can to get rid of your anger.

“You know he means well, right?” Clint asks from the couch.

“I thought you were asleep?” You say without looking up and he chuckles, the sound making something in your stomach flutter. It feels like you’ve just swallowed a whole bottle of fizzy tablets.

“I’m a light sleeper,” he explains, “I’m like a dog, I wake up when I hear something important.”

You look at him and smile. There’s something crooked about the way he grins that tells you that he’s not telling the truth.

“Yeah, right,” you say, “But if you’re sleeping I should better not disturb you and go find someone else to taste test these cupcakes.”

“Oh, you know, I’ve got enough sleep for now,” he disagrees, getting up immediately, almost tripping over his feet as he makes his way over to you and the tray of sweet treats.

He looks at them, weighing his options before choosing the one you’ve put way too much frosting on. His grin is childish, boylike, as he licks the frosting of, smearing it around his mouth in the process.

“Well, the frosting is great,” he says, licking his lips.

“Tony already said that,” you remind him, suddenly nervous, “But how are the cupcakes?”

He bites into it and for a split second, you can see him freeze, before he continues chewing, a smile frozen in place.

“Is it good?”

“Amazing,” he says, his mouth still half full, before swallowing the mouthful, almost choking while doing so.

“But you didn’t make enough for the whole gang,” he says, counting the sweets.

“Of course not, because they are just for Steve’s girlfriend and the rest of her PR-Team. They had a lot to do because of the Interview.”

“Oh,” Clint bites his lip as if he’s holding something back. Your eyes are drawn to it and you look away to gather confidence.

“Are they not good?”

“No, they are great,” he says, “But did you use wheat? She’s allergic against it. Or was it Rosemary who has the office next to her?”

You look down in shock. “I can’t gift them cupcakes that will kill them. Wait, can you die from wheat allergies? Damn, Y/N, it doesn’t matter, they can’t eat them.”

“You could just bake new ones, right?”

“I don’t know how to make wheatless cupcakes!”, you panic, now close to tears, “I only knew how to make these from some very shady memory and the frosting was some powder I had to mix with milk. Oh god and I promised her I would bring them over in the evening!”

“Don’t worry,” Clint squares his shoulders, “I got his. You clean the kitchen, I make the cupcakes disappear. We meet in half an hour for a shopping tour.”

“Wait, why do we have to make them disappear?”

“Uh,” Clint scratches his head, “Because they… well, it would be kinda weird if PR found out you made them killer cupcakes.”

Your eyes shoot open. “Make them disappear,” you order, “Just, make sure PR doesn’t find out!”

“Don’t worry,” he says again, “I got this.”

“You are the best, Clint!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's POV

As he steps out of the room, he can see Tony at the end of the hallway, calling the elevator.  
“Hey, wait up,” he balances the plate with cupcakes as he races over, “I need your help.”  
“Stay away with those things,” Tony warns him, “I’m pretty sure they are poisoned.”   
Clint looks into the trashcan next to the elevator and sees the discarded cupcake. “You gotta take that cupcake somewhere else. Y/N is going to recognize the wrapper.”  
“So what?”  
“You wanna make her feel awful?” Clint glares at him, “After all she went through? Are you sure?”  
“Fine,” Tony pulls out a handkerchief and picks the cupcake out of the garbage, “I’ll throw it out in the lab. Do you need me to take these as well?”  
“Yeah,” Clint pushes the plant into his hands, “I said I would make them disappear. Made her believe that someone in the PR-team is allergic against wheat. We’re going to buy some no wheat baking mix. That should do the trick.”  
“I could order it in,” Tony pulls out his phone, but Clint waves him off and pushes him into the opening elevator, away from Y/N who shouldn’t hear any of this anyway.  
“Please, I think I can manage to take her to the store.”  
“That’s Y/N we’re talking about. Pretty sure she doesn’t even know a subway.”  
“We’ll take Happy?”  
Tony grunts in affirmation, swiping through his phone, “Just sent him the address of the store. Anything else?”  
“Money,” Clint puts out his hand, grinning at Tony who sends him a glare before pulling out his credit card.  
“Just… make sure she buys the same frosting again. It was delicious.”  
-  
“Add three eggs,” Clint reads from the package of the baking mix and looks up just in time to stop you from making yet another mistake. “I’m pretty sure you have to crack them first.”  
“Oh, right, sure,” you stutter and wipe your hands on your apron before trying again, “Dang, baking is hard.”  
“You tell me,” Clint adds, taking another animal cracker from the pack he’s bought with Tony’s credit card, “What animal do you think that is?”  
“Sheep?” You guess, “Or maybe a pig?”  
He eyes it carefully, “Nah, I think it’s a dog.”  
You laugh. “You’ve had twenty dog’s so far and they all looked different to me.”  
“It’s the special dog edition,” he claims and puts his hand over the bag so you can’t read the labeling, “I swear.”  
You laugh again and he feels weirdly proud that it’s because of him. He knows he’s a mess and most of the time it’s not in a funny way, but somehow you manage to always see the good side of it.  
He watches you stir the eggs into the mix and thinks that this day has been great.  
You look nice in that apron, and even though baking is surely not your comfort zone, there’s something open and relaxed about you that he wants to see more often. You close yourself off too often and too easily and he wants you to stay that way just a bit longer.  
“Hey, we could order pizza after that,” he offers, before handing you the oil bottle, “pour a cup.”  
“Pizza?” You ask as you fill the cup, “Yeah, I’d love pizza. Should we ask the others if they want some too?”  
You look up at him and he’s momentarily distracted by how darn long your eyelashes are. Have they always been that long?  
“Clint?”  
“What? Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll text Nat.”  
-  
“Do you want me to take the Cupcake over to PR?” Clint asks after he’s taste-tested one. They taste delicious and he’s really proud of himself. If not for him, they’d eat the poisoned ones now.  
“Yeah,” You say, wiping your hands on your apron again.  
He’s known for sometimes being slow on the uptake, but by now he’s realized that it’s a nervous gesture.  
“You sure?” He asks, “Because they taste great and you deserve the compliments.”  
You wipe your hands again and he can see how you’re closing off again. Six months with them have thought you a lot, he knows, but you’ll never learn how to be comfortable around strangers if you hide every time. He knows, because he’s been through that as well.  
“You’re coming with me,” he orders, “Wipe the frosting off your cheek and off we go.”  
“I have to clean the kitchen,” you try to pull away but he grabs your arm.  
“Yeah, no, that can wait. Come on, that’s something you need to go through. I promise I will take the attention if it gets too much.”  
You look at him, mouth open, and he realizes that maybe he’s been a bit too forward with this. Maybe you don’t like everyone knowing you’re not good with attention.  
“I mean, I thought that might be your problem, you know? That you’re so humble you don’t want the compliments.”  
“I’m not humble.”  
“Well, it’s settled then,” he pulls you forward, “We’re going.”  
-  
“I’m impressed,” Nat says as she steps onto the roof that night.  
He’s been there since you’ve gone to bed, reflecting on this day, playing through it again and again like one would do with a favorite movie.  
“Do I want to know why?” Clint asks, his voice a bit harsher than he had intended. Nat doesn’t react to that, just taking a seat next to him, offering him a bottle of beer that he accepts.  
“You know, offering to take her shopping I could understand,” Nat starts as if he had, indeed, asked her about it, “Because she definitely needs to get out more and won’t do it alone. But cleaning the kitchen with her-”  
“I wasn’t cleaning,” he disagrees stubbornly and Nat sends him a glare.  
“Clin, you were drying the dishes. I have never seen you do that before. You insist that it’s easier to let them air dry.”  
“I was just helping her, okay? She wouldn’t sit down to eat until everything was put away.”  
“Clint, I’m your best friend, you can admit it. I won’t laugh, I won’t tell you to leave it be.”  
“You already think it’s true, why do you need a confession anyway?” Clint asks sourly, “And don’t tell me you wouldn’t matchmake without a confession.”  
Nat smiles slyly. “Is this you asking me to matchmake?”  
“No, it’s definitely not,” Clint barks, “Forget that, immediately!”  
“Calm down,” Nat puts a hand on his shoulder, “You know how good I am at matchmaking. And you know why that is? Because I can be patient when I have to be. Y/N isn’t ready yet.”  
Clint lets out a deep breathe. The next sentence is stuck on his tongue and he really, really doesn’t want to say it out loud, but this is Nat and he trusts her and if he wants you to open up he should do it too.  
“I felt that too. Like when I tried to take her hand, she pulled away.”  
“You tried to take her hand? When? How? What did she say before that?” Nat looks like she’s going to squeal and Clint has to glare at her to calm her down.  
“Sorry,” Nat shrugs, “I just got excited. And you don’t tell me anything! I didn’t know about the hand holding thing!”  
“There was no hand holding thing, we were talking about a serious topic, she looked sad and I tried to cheer her up. I patted her shoulder to make it less awkward, but yeah… it was awkward.”  
Nat takes a sip of her beer before she speaks again, obviously weighing her words.  
“Look, everything we do is to make her open up. Of course, Tony with his provoking strategy and Sam with his never-ending questions are more annoying than helping, but at least they try to be helpful. I know you like her and I know she likes you. But you have to give her time to admit it to herself. Just be her friend until then.”  
“You don’t have to tell me, I’m already doing that.”  
Nat chuckles. “I know. But it’s really a step forward for you to actually admit your feelings. I’m proud of you. And because I know and love you, I’m going to leave you alone now.” She gets up and waves her bottle at him, “Don’t stay up too late.”  
She leaves and he stays behind, looking over the city but instead choosing to go through this day again, starting when he had walked into the kitchen to you making the first batch of cupcakes.  
He smiles at the memory. You really looked cute in that apron.  
-  
 **extra scene - earlier that day:**  
“Mr. Stark? Are you here?” Peter walks into the lab, looking around. “Mr. Stark?”  
“Mr. Stark is currently in the bathroom. Please wait until he arrives,” Friday announces and Peter flops down on one of the lab chairs. It takes him five seconds to get restless and he gets up and walks around, looking at everything and nothing until he reaches the very end of the room, stopping when he sees a plate filled with cupcakes.  
“Oooh, cupcakes,” Peter grabs one, “How nice of Mr. Stark.”  
Tony enters the lab at the exact moment that Peter is taking his first bite. “Spit that out,” he yells, grabbing a trashcan while he moves and arrives just in time to save the floor from getting dirty.  
“What-” Peter rubs his tongue, trying to get that taste out of his mouth. Tony hands him a cup of water.  
“Congratulations, you’ve just tried Y/N’s first batch of probably poisonous cupcakes. If you see her, tell her they taste amazing.”  
“But… that’s a lie.”  
“You want another one instead?” Tony asks and Peter gulps down the water he had intended to spit out.  
“No, thanks, Mr. Stark, I’m fine,” he coughs out and Tony claps him on the back.  
“Right choice.”


	11. Chapter 11

Only two days later you’re sitting in your shower, cold water raining down on you.

Your skin feels too hot and aches, as if it had shrunk and now there’s not enough space for your body to fit into it. It’s hard to breathe and you’re not really sure how you made the distance from the bed to the bathroom.

“Breathe in,” Friday’s voice is low, but still clearly audible over the running water.

“Breathe out.”

You follow her orders, never as thankful for her as when the after-nightmare-panic hits.

“Your body temperature is still elevated,” she tells you when your breathing has turned normal again, “Do you need me to call Dr. Banner?”

“Not yet,” you push the words out, “I’ll stay in the water.”

“Do you want me to cancel your plans for today, Miss Y/N?”

“Yes, please.”

You let your head fall back against the tiles, feelings running through you like the shivers. Something like shame, guilt, and sadness with the occasional sprinkle of exhaustion.

You had been fine for weeks, even thinking about asking Tony to let you drop out of the therapy sessions, or at least, cut them down to only once a week or so, but no. Your mind wouldn’t let you.

-

It’s not the first time you’ve had a nightmare like that and it surely won’t be the last. Not for the three of you.

C’s nightmares are the worst, mostly because there’s the possibility of her hulking out in her sleep.  Friday is programmed and equipped to inject her with a strong sedative if necessary, but her room is right next to yours so that you can calm her down instead.

B’s nightmares are like fever dreams. They rarely make sense, but a feeling of sheer terror remains that leaves him crawling into your bed to get his sanity back.

Yours are vivid. Memories that you can’t quite place or something so real you have a hard time shaking yourself out of it.

And when you wake up, you need at least a day to yourself to get back to who you were before.

Tony has programmed Friday to take care of all three of you. You’re thankful for that, more than you’ll ever be able to put into words.

But he has also programmed Friday to call your therapist whenever you’re in this kind of mood and you’d love to change that. So far you haven’t been able to see the good in it.

-

“Do you want to tell me about the dream?” She asks, her figure the only thing that’s not fitting into your room right now. She’s sitting on the lounge chair Wanda had forced you to buy, a notebook open in her lap.

“No,” you answer, arms folded in front of you, your back against the headpiece of your bed.

“Y/N, it feels like you’re trying to block me. I can’t help you that way.”

“Doctor-”

“Jordan,” she corrects you, “I told you to call me Jordan.”

“Fine, Jordan,” you push through your teeth, “I thought talking about traumatic experiences would only increase the risk of retraumatizing the patient.”

She smiles, “So you’ve done some research?”

“Maybe,” you don’t want her to be right even if she is, “I wanted to know what that thing was that you diagnosed me with. I don’t believe everything people tell me, you know.”

“Well, that is good,” she scribbles something down and you’d love to see what.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve made real improvement. Remember when you settled down here? According to Dr. Banner’s notes, you had quite a hard time getting used to electronic devices or forming your own opinion on something.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you admit, almost smiling at how terrified you had been at the thought of talking to someone without actually seeing their face, like on the phone.

“Also you are right, it isn’t advised to talk about traumatic experiences in detail. Knowing that what you dreamt of was indeed a memory does help me though.”

“Why?” You ask, suspicious again.

“I have known you for four months now. Dr. Banner asked me to take over because he is not that kind of Doctor, no matter how hard he might have tried to help you three. I know that your main focus relies on your memory less and since we’ve run into a roadblock there, I have seen your work ethic decrease. You’re only coming to see me because you want to be a role model for your children,” Jordan leans back in her chair to assess you and you hold your breath, ashamed that she’s looked right through you.

She waits for you to speak up, but you don’t and she exhales deeply, almost like a sigh, before she speaks on.

“Whenever I come to you after one of your nightmares, you are reluctant. You don’t want to talk about them, and it’s okay that you don’t want to go into detail, but you’ve just let on that you are remembering things, important things. Maybe the roadblock we’ve hit wasn’t a roadblock but you’re blocking yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?” You ask her, “I don’t want to remember those things!”

“But avoiding it does not work. It will come back eventually, at a time you don’t have the power to control it. Like when you sleep.”

Jordan snaps her notebook shut and gets up.

“Y/N,” she says, her voice calm, “I cannot help you if you don’t let me. You don’t have to tell me the details, but you have to try and let me in… Now I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee and when I’m back, we will go over breathing techniques.”

-

“I was back at nightleaf,” you tell her after she’s taken a seat again.

It feels wrong to say it aloud as if it’s finally turning real this way. That you had in fact dreamed, no, remembered.

But Jordan doesn’t look at you with pity in her eyes and she’s not writing down anything - yet - and you asked Friday to check her for any device she could use to record you.

Also, Jordan had brought you coffee and you felt like she deserved at least a little bit of obligingness for that, because it reminded you of Clint and your talks.

“I was walking down the hallways and I was terrified because I knew I was back there, but I didn’t know how I could get out. The hallways there all look the same and if you don’t know where you are, you will never get out on your own. And I couldn’t turn or stop, my body wouldn’t let me, like-”

You stop yourself and force yourself to drink your coffee. The warmth of the liquid pulls you back to reality and you take a moment to ground yourself like Bruce had taught you in the beginning.

“Y/N?”

“Can you ask me what I feel?” You ask her and she smiles softly.

“What do you feel, Y/N?”

“I can feel the blanket on me and the fact that I don’t have socks on and the warmth of the cup in my hand and the headrest digging into my back,” you count and take a breath, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m very proud of you, that you’re already establishing grounding techniques. We know that your dream was a memory. You have a lot of memories of the nightleaf lab’s because you spent quite some time there. Now, look at what’s imprinted on your coffee cup.”

You look down at the Avengers Logo and back up to Jordan.

“No Avengers Logos in nightleaf. You’re not there anymore… maybe you can find something you’ll always have with you to remind you that you’re not in nightleaf anymore.”

“Yeah,” you pause,” I could do that.”

-


	12. Chapter 12

(Excuse me for adding a lot of the comics into this fic. I just love Lucky/Pizza Dog)

“Denied,” Friday’s voice rings through the elevator and you lean your heavy head against the wall.

“Why? I can totally sit through a few hours of classes. I’m not gonna stand or try to raise my hand, I swear.”

“I am afraid I cannot let you.”

You sigh. “Fine, I said to cancel all my plans for today, but I’m better. I talked to Jordan. Please let me go down to class.”

“Denied.”

“Who do I have to bribe to get me down there? I would take the stairs but you won’t let me through the door!”

“Mr. Stark is currently away on a mission.”

You groan.

“Fine, then bring me up to the roof.”

“Denied.”

“What? Why can’t I go to the roof?”

“According to Security program 72 I am not allowed to let a mentally unstable person up there unless they are supervised.”

“Wait,” you glare at the screen, “Are you blocking me from the roof because there’s the weird possibility of me flinging me over the edge?”

“Affirmative.”

“So if I want to go up there to be alone, I have to bring someone with me?”

“Affirmative. Do you want me to find you a supervisor?”

You groan. “It’s Friday evening, Tony is on a mission. Who could be here now?”

“Agent Barnes is currently in the lounge area and Agent Barton is stealing cookies from the buffet in Level 12.”

You freeze. While you wouldn’t mind Clint’s company, you don’t feel very presentable right now. And while Barnes had been so nice to never take part in the guessing game, you don’t feel like sitting on the roof with him.

“Agent Barton is on his way,” Friday tells you and you yelp in surprise.

“I didn’t- I never-”

“You seemed unsure, so I contacted him. He has been on the roof with you before.”

You sigh. “You just wanted him to stop stealing cookies.”

“There are cookies in the lounge room,” she tells you and opens the elevator doors before you can answer.

Clint’s standing on the other side, cookie crumbs around his mouth.

“Hey,” he greets you, “Friday asked me to go to the roof with you?”

“Yeah, she won’t let me go alone. You don’t have to, of course.”

“Ah,” he nods and steps into the elevator, “Security program 72. Forgot that still existed.”

“I am not suicidal,” you tell him, stressing the word “not” as much as you can.

“Oh, I know that, but the computer doesn’t. Cookie?” He offers you one and you accept it with a sigh.

-

“So, you had a rough day, huh?” Clint asks as you’re sitting side by side, looking over the city.

“Yeah, you heard?”

“Well, I was training with the others and B said you were in your mood. So I thought Chocolate Cookies would help.”

“You were stealing them before you even knew I wanted to go to the roof,” you remind him.

He laughs. “Busted. But Natasha said Chocolate always helps her, so-”

“It helps her?” You send him a confused look, “Does she have evil nightmares too?”

“Wait? What?” Clint looks bewildered, “You had a nightmare? I thought you were on your period!”

“What? No, why would I- I mean, how did you think-”

Clint holds up his hand to stop your babbling, “Just let me get this straight. You had a freakish nightmare and needed the day off. That’s all the word “mood” is about.”

“Yeah, we call it that way because it sounds more neutral. You know, with C hulking out from her night terrors.”

“Oh,” Clint nods, “That makes sense. But, for the record, what do you guys call the shark week then? So that I know when to plan my Cookie stealing.”

“We don’t have some weird name for that. We just call it what it is.”

“Got it,” Clint nods again, “Sounds good to me. Want another Cookie? They are especially good after nightmares.”

You laugh at that.

-

For a while the two of you just sit there and eat, enjoying the nightly view in silence until Clint shivers next to you.

“Are you cold?” You ask him, bewildered by this. Sure, people are talking about Fall weather coming in, but you don’t feel cold at all. Not that you would know what to expect. Every season is something new for you this year.

“Aren’t you?” He asks, “I think I left a blanket somewhere over there, I’m gonna go and look-”

“Oh, you can have my flannel,” you stop him, “I’m not really cold, I’m just wearing it because there’s a stain on my shirt and I didn’t want to change.”

You slip out of the flannel shirt and hand it to him. He looks taken aback for a moment and you realize, too late again, that this might have been too straightforward.

“Oh, sure, thanks,” he says and eyes the shirt before slipping out of leather jacket to pull it on.

“It’s clean,” you assure him, “I just have, like, a dozen of them. I like the pattern and the color.”

He looks weird in it, even as he puts the leather jacket back on. Weird, but cozy.

“So you’ve got secret stains?” He asks with a smile and you laugh.

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone.”

“You can trust me,” he says with such sincerity that it moves something in you.

“Really?” You ask and he turns to look into your eyes. Your voice must have shown the vulnerability that you feel because his voice is serious as he answers.

“Really really.”

“Can I tell you something, then?”

“Yeah.”

“My therapist thinks I have PTSD. It’s something about trauma and a disorder. And my nightmares… she calls them flashbacks.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know those. They are awful.”

“You have them too?”

He nods and you feel weirdly relieved. It’s something hearing it from your therapist and seeing the symptoms in the kids, but knowing that you’re not alone in this, that perfectly normal people like Clint have it too… it’s like a window opening in that giant weird memory filled mansion that is your mind, like a breath of fresh air.

“You know, I think it’s almost like a membership card. You are an Avenger, you’ve got a trauma. Just ask them. Or better not, we all don’t really like talking about it. Except for Sam, he went through training and is now a Counsellor.”

“What do you do when the flashbacks come?”

“Well, that’s kinda lame, but my dog helps me. He likes to lay on me or lick my face until I react. It’s like an alarm clock.”

“Oh, like Friday!” You exclaim and the look of bewilderment on his face is hilarious.

“Friday checks my heart rate and body temperature. She sprays me with cold water until I wake up.”

“Wow, that’s harsh,” he says and you shrug.

“It helps… But tell me about your dog. What’s his name.”

“Lucky. Because he’s really lucky to be alive. Lost an eye and stuff. And he really loves Pizza, so I call him Pizza Dog most of the time.”

“Oh, I’d love to meet him,” you tell him, grabbing his arm in excitement, “Do you have a picture? What color is his fur? Does he shake your paw?”

Clint laughs and pulls out his phone, swiping through his gallery for you while you “aww” at the pictures.

-

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's POV

Clint’s not sure if he should feel like an idiot or not. That’s new. He’s normally pretty sure about the times he’s supposed to feel idiotic.

But that’s just one of the ways you affect him, it seems. Because yes, he was planning to surprise you with that chocolate chip cookies - okay, some of them - because of your period, but even his misunderstanding of the century turned out into something good.

He knows because you’re sitting next to him, talking animatedly about how you’d like to become a vet after night school. You’re thinking of the future, not the past and what more could he want?

Well, he thinks to himself, as he nods, encouraging you to go on, he had wanted something pretty simple for tonight. Cuddle under a blanket and look up at the stars, your frame cozily tucked away in his leather jacket. He’d made sure to wear the one that had a fleece lining, as well as a warm shirt under it and now he felt a little too warm with not only that but your flannel on as well.

But hey, that was just another reason not to know if he should feel like an idiot. He was wearing one of your oversized flannels, just waiting for the change to dip his nose into the fabric to take a sniff.

You turn away to grab your water bottle and he takes the change, inhaling as deeply as he can. Yeah, he thinks as he straightens immediately, unable to stop the smile from spreading on his lips, he’s definitely going to keep that shirt.

-

“Where were we?” You ask him after taking a sip from your water bottle and offering him the bottle. He takes it, his fingers brushing yours. He’s surprised by how warm they feel after almost an hour up here, but not enough to miss the nervous smile dancing around your lips as you pull back.

“Err,” he says, clearing his throat before taking a sip as well. He’s trying not to think about that your lips have touched the bottle just moments before.

It means nothing, Clint, he tells himself, but damn him if he hasn’t watched one too many cheesy movies where they call it an indirect kiss. Okay, now he’s trying not to blush.

“You were talking about becoming a vet.”

“Yeah, but…” You stop, “I actually… Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” He gives the bottle back to you before he can spill it on his shirt, trying not to think about all the things you could possibly ask.

“Do you think-” You stop, but Clint nods, encouraging you to go on, “Well, do you think that Lucky helps you because seeing, feeling or, like, smelling him, helps you to realize that the flashbacks are only a memory?”

“Oh wow… that’s a tough question,” he says, buying himself time to think of his last flashback, of the ones before.

“Yeah,” he thinks out loud, “Lucky really does make that difference.”

“Because, you know, I have to go see that therapist-”

“Jordan?”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, sure, after the big missions we all have to take a few sessions. She’s been with Shield forever and when Shield went down, Tony took her. I’m not a fan of talking about everything, but she’s got this…” He hesitates, but he knows he can’t back down now. He has to say this. “I don’t know… I always feel like she’s got me figured out and I’m a mess, honestly.”

To his surprise, you smile at that. “You don’t seem that messy to me. Messy, but, like, an acceptable amount.”

He barks out a laugh. “An acceptable amount of a mess? That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard someone say.”

You join his laughter until it quiets down. “For someone like me,” you say softly, “You look like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“That’s life,” Clint remarks, “It’s like baking Cupcakes. You either bullshit your way through them or you try to be smart and buy the baking mix.”

You laugh. “That’s the best comparison I’ve ever heard. You seem to be unable to forget mine.”

His smile falters and he sits up straighter. It’s a weird impulse but he knows he will follow it anyway.  And with no Nat and no Kate around, he’s basically completely without impulse-control.

He stretches out his hand and places it next to yours, your pinkie fingers touching, but he doesn’t look down, his eyes on yours instead.

“I have to tell you something about those cupcakes.”

There’s insecurity in your eyes and he hates you for sounding so weird, but he can’t get a good sleep with that lie hanging over his head.

“That first batch of cupcakes…”

“Yeah?” Your voice takes him by surprise and he gets distracted by the way your lick your lips in a nervous fashion.

He shakes his head to clear his mind and looks back at you.

“They were horrible.”

Slowly, your eyebrows pull together and your nose shows that adorable wrinkle it gets when you’re surprised.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a breath, “They tasted poisonous.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” Clint pulls a face, “And that wheat allergy wasn’t fully honest either. I just wanted to spare my feelings.”

“Wow,” you say and pull your hand back from him, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re so in for it. Who else knows about those cupcakes?”

“Tony, but no one else.”

You exhale in relief and he watches you carefully, anxiously, until your lips stretch into a smile. “Were they really that awful?”

-

Hours later he guides your sleepy form into the elevator. It feels intimate, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other under your elbow. You’re close and you’re warm and you smell good…

He opens his mouth to tell Friday where to go when yet another idea hits him.

“Ground floor.”

“What?” You yawn before looking up at him, “My room isn’t-”

“I have an idea,” he says, “It will be quick.”

“Fine,” you answer and lean heavily onto him.

It’s cute, he thinks, how open and unguarded you are when you’re sleepy.

“Do I have to carry you?” He asks as you stumble out of the elevator.

“No, I can walk.” You straighten up but your left hand is tugging on his jacket, not letting go.

“What do you want here?” You ask as he stops in front of a vending machine.

“It’s cheap and silly, but I thought it might do the trick until you find something better. Feel free to replace it.” He puts a dollar into the machine and punches the numbers, crouching down to fish his purchase out before you can see it.

“Give me your hand and close your eyes..”

“If this is something yucky, I’m going to slap you,” you warn him but hold out your hand anyway.

He waits until your eyes are closed before pulling the elastic over your hand, taking a bit more time than necessary to make sure it fits nicely around your wrist.

“Open your eyes.”

You look down and up at him, before looking down again.

It’s a cheap elastic band they sell in hundreds down here, but as he puts his finger on the avenger’s logo and traces the letters next to it, he knows that you know that this means more.

“It says you’re an honorary Avenger,” his voice isn’t as steady as he would want it to be, “So whenever you’ll look at it you will know you’re part of us. If you want it or not.”

And right then, time seems to stand still. Your eyes are big and innocent and he feels himself leaning forward, wanting to be close to you.

“I should go,” you breathe out, your breath washing over his face, telling himself how close he really is.

He blinks, pulling himself together. It’s too early for that, Barton, don’t scare her away.

“Right. I’ll walk you to your room.”

“I got it, but thanks.” You turn and walk back towards the elevator and he can’t bring himself to follow you.

You turn around one last time, looking at him.

“And thank you,” you say, your voice soft, but clear, “You have no idea what this means to me.” You clutch the arm with the bracelet to your chest and he smiles, has to, because how else can he take this slow?

“Anytime.”

But then, the elevator doors close and you’re taken away from him and he can’t help but groan.

“I’m such a mess.”

“Indeed,” Friday answers, “But no one ever said a mess couldn’t be loveable.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”


	14. Chapter 14

You wear your new bracelet like a trophy. Hidden away under your extra long sleeves of an oversized hoodie.

“You look like a high school student in that hoodie,” C tells you when she walks into the kitchen that Saturday morning.

“I take that as a compliment,” you smile at her and kiss her forehead in greeting as she steps closer, “But it does get in the way of cooking.”

“Yeah, because it’s mine,” C points out, “And I’m already taller and broader than you are.” She pushes her hip into yours, moving you to the side, taking over the waffle batter.

Six months into living at the tower it has become an almost sacred ritual amongst the ones living here. On weekends, you make breakfast.

The kids aren’t supposed to help, but they like to anyway. The only reason to miss the early hours of cooking would be an exceptionally hard training session on the day before.

“Do we have chocolate chips?” C asks and you leave her side to look in the cupboards.

Your phone chimes on the counter as you stretch to get the chocolate chips from the high shelf but you ignore it. It can’t be more important than mother-daughter-time.

“So?” You ask as you hand C the chocolate chips, “What have you been up too? I feel like I missed everything.”

“You were down for a day, Mom,” C reminds you, her voice gentle as ever, “And you always tell us to take the time to recover.”

“Yeah, I do say that. And it’s important too.”

“But you don’t like it when it happens to yourself, I get that.” C dips her finger into the batter and licks it, “We need more sugar. But there’s actually something I want to talk about.”

“Yeah?” You and her the sugar and pull oranges out of the giant fruit basket on the counter. Somehow all serious talks end up with you cooking, maybe because it relaxes you. It’s way easier than baking, too.

“Yeah… B wants to go to regular school.”

“I know,” you tell her, “He’s been wanting to go since we got here.”

“Yeah, but Tony let us hang out with Peter a bit. You know, Peter Parker?”

“The guy that has spider-powers? Bruce mentioned that he’s pretty smart.”

“Yeah, he is, he’s fun too and B asked him a lot about school and now he wants to go there…”

“And you don’t want him to go?”

C sighs. “I do want him to do what makes him happy. I mean, I’m sure he would love it. He’s so good at making friends and he’s smart and he would be great at sports and stuff.”

“But?”

“But I can’t go with him, Mom.” C puts down the bowl and stands there, rigid as a statue, hands balled into fists.

You reach out and put your hand on her cheek.

“Sweetheart, I know. Come here, you want a hug?”

She nods and you pull her into an embrace until you feel her muscles loosen.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to go to school. So many strangers and things that could trigger me…”

“C, we’re not talking about ‘never’ here. Bruce and Helen are already working on a weaker version of your medication. I’m sure we will have you set up in time for College.”

She folds her arms in front of her chest, closing herself off and you smile and pat her cheek.

“Be honest with me, dear. You’re too afraid to try.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, that’s completely natural. Night school terrifies me to no end, too. Or going out. Or wearing clothes that are snug.”

“Or trying to find a name for yourself,” C adds and you smile.

“I told you that you can stay as C for the rest of your life. No one’s going to think anything about it.”

“Yeah, I know, I just… I really want a name. But I’m not sure. I want something that honors you and B and, well, Bruce because I think he would like that.”

“It’s your name, not his,” you remind her, “Is he still acting weird when you’re alone?”

“Well, we’re not alone that often, because B makes sure to hang around. But I think he wanted to invite me to watch a movie last time, but he didn’t manage to get it all out.”

“See? He’s trying. You knew for a long time that those experiments made you the closest he will ever have to a child. He’s only known for six months. Why don’t you invite him for a chance? We could watch that Catwoman movie Clint recommended.”

“Speaking of Clint,” C starts, but stops when the door opens.

“Friday told me you’re already awake,” Tony greets you, “I really need a coffee.”

He looks terrible, a bruise forming on his left cheekbone, his hair disheveled and dirty.

“What did you do?” you ask as you help him to the table, “Your metal uniform thing should prevent bruises.”

“Long story,” Tony grabs the cup C hands him and all but inhales the fresh coffee, “I’m just glad to be back.”

“You’re going to take a nap right away. Did you even sleep?”

“Don’t baby me,” Tony tells you, flinching at the harshness of his own voice, “Sorry. It was an awful mission.”

“Well, in that case, you’re staying for breakfast. C’s making chocolate chip waffles.”

“Fine,” Tony gives in, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

You leave him be and walk back to the counter where your phone chimes again.

You pick it up, read the message and breathe out a “Not that too.”

C sends you a worried glance and you shake your head. “Apparently I have to do a group project this weekend.”

She makes a face in a show of compassion and you nod, before loading oranges into the juicer.

-

It’s not that you hate group projects. You’ve just learned to loathe them.

It had started out innocently. Read a book, make a presentation together.

But nothing stays innocent when it gets into contact with the Avengers.

At that time you were still weeks away from going on a simple run outside the tower, so there was no question that working on that project had to happen in the tower.

But it did not stop there.

Even with your limited experience in relationships, you could tell that you liked everyone in the tower, that most of the time you felt safe and reassured. Though when you had someone over, everyone seemed to forget how to behave.

You had Tony marching in and demanding to know why your project partner had posted something two years ago or Steve lingering in the far end of the room, so obviously eavesdropping that it hurt. It was painful to think about everything else that had occurred and you always opted to ignore those memories, but unfortunately, your project partners did not.

It did not help your reputation that one of those project partners had been Maa, the popular girl in your class. No, that really did not help at all.

-

“You could ask,” C mumbles as she steps closer, “You’ve gotten better. Meet them in a coffee shop or something like that.”

You sigh and look over to Tony who now looks closer to sleeping than anything else.

“Well, trying won’t hurt, huh?”

-


	15. Chapter 15

You’re not exactly one to love the spotlight. Therefore you’d have loved to speak about the matter in private.

But you’re also not stupid and you know that you have to talk to Tony now before he leaves for an approximately 36-hour long nap. Plus your chances are way better with the whole gang sitting around the table. You’ve seen it happen before, how a simple question had turned into a full-on argument with everyone pitching in their opinion. Tony, as well as Steve, was usually the one who had to decide in the end and as stubborn as those two were, they couldn’t do much when everyone else was against them.

-

“Tony,” you put your fork away and clear your throat, “I have to talk to you.”

“Can’t that wait until I’ve slept?”

“I’d rather get it out of the way now,” you say and the fact that Steve puts down his newspaper to look at you tells you enough of how weird your voice must have sounded.

“I just have to ask for your permission,” you clarify and three more faces turn towards you. You’re pretty sure Nat had been listening in on you from the beginning, but she’s playing a game on her phone and you’re never really sure with her.

“Is it about us?” B drops his spoon in his cereal, splashing milk on Bucky’s metal arm. C grabs her napkin, reaches over the table and wipes it away while sending her brother pointed glares. She turns to you with a reassuring smile and you take another deep breath. You can do this.

“No, it’s… I have a group project coming up.”

“So what? Do you need help with it?” Tony rubs a hand over his face, looking a bit more awake at the thought of teaching you some techno stuff.

“No, but I want to do it at their place.” He chokes on his juice.

Sam tries to hide his laughter behind a coughing fit and you hit him on the back as hard as you can, which isn’t that hard.

“What? You’ve always done it here! Do I know them?”

“No, you don’t. And that one group project has sealed my fate as the weird one in class. You were all sitting around watching us. Steve draw fifteen different versions of on single picture to use in the presentation.”

“I wanted to give you variety,” he defends himself.

“I know that and they were all great,” you tell him, “But it’s hard enough working on school projects as it is without the whole Avengers team supervising me and jumping every time my classmate moves.”

“Okay, fine,” Tony groans, “You get a whole level for yourself and no one will walk in.”

“No. I want to go to them.”

“Absolutely not. You give me their name and I do a check-up and after that, I’ll maybe, maybe, think about letting you work with them.”

“Don’t baby me!” You tell him, reminding him of earlier. That’s not nice, but you need everything you can get.

Tony gasps. “Now you’re being unfair!”

“I’m not unfair. Guys, tell him I’m not unfair.”

You look at Steve who’s suddenly very interested in his newspapers. Bucky looks like he might actually say something, but can’t get the words out and Wanda, your best friend, and partner in crime isn’t even at the table.

“She’s not unfair,” Clint speaks up, surprising everyone, even Natasha, who puts her phone down to look at him.

“What?” You and Tony talk at the same time, but Clint drops his fork on his plate, lets his chair tip back and looks at Tony.

“Dude, just let her meet them in a coffee shop. It’s school work, not a date.”

His eyes flick over to yours as if to check that his assumptions are true.

You’re stunned. Clint rarely talks up in these kitchen-table-arguments. Mostly because he’s not really interested in the topic or because he knows how to get what he wants in a one-on-one-argument.

“Are you drunk?” Nat asks what everybody is thinking and he shakes his head at her before turning back to Tony.

“You’ve checked the students when you let them have class in the tower. Y/N’s been taking self-defense classes. If Happy drives her all she’ll need is a pepper spray for emergencies and she should be good to go. You can’t hold her in here forever.”

You have to swallow down your heart to speak and opt to shake Tony’s sleeve instead, making his arm move around wildly.

“Fine,” Tony groans, “Fine, okay, I’ll do that, but if something goes wrong, Clint’s the one who’s to blame.”

“Absolutely!” You agree with Tony, “But nothing will go wrong. It’s just a boring school project!”

-

You still can’t believe your luck by the time you’re sitting in the car.

“Thank you,” you text Clint and his response comes immediately.

“Anytime,” he writes, “Just take care of yourself out there.”

You think about sending him a picture of the pepper spray Tony had forced you to take - of course, it has the Stark Label on it - when his next message comes in.

“If something feels off, don’t hesitate to text me.”

Another message. “Or anyone else from the team, of course.”

“I think Sam would be there the fastest with his wings,” you write back, smiling at your pretty lame attempt of teasing him.

Clint doesn’t respond for a while and when he does it’s just a “Birds, right?”

-

To be honest, you’re incredibly nervous.

The fact that you can rely on Happy to navigate through the city keeps you from having a major panic attack, but the farther away you are from the tower, the worse you feel.

And then you’re there.

You take one of many deep breaths and tell yourself that Clint and the others are just a call away.

“Do you want me to circle the neighborhood until you’re done?” Happy asks and you shake your head no when you want to say yes.

“Did Tony ask you to do that?”

“That and you’re looking like you might puke any moment.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “And don’t waste the gas. Take some time off. I’m gonna call you the moment we’re finished.”

“Fine.” He drives away

-

As you walk towards the coffee shop’s entrance, you stop at one of the big windows and look inside. It’s pretty full, but the line at the counter is short. Enough people to be safe but not too much. You take another deep breath when you find a familiar face in the crowd.

Finn is one of the younger students, around your and Maa’s age. According to the gossip and Friday’s calculations, he’s pretty good looking with his dark hair that’s always styled and the dimples. To you, he looks like a younger version of Tony, but without his warmth.

He’s talking to two girls on the table over and you hesitate to walk in, checking your own reflection instead. Your hair is clean, your clothes stain free. You’ve swapped the hoodie against a flannel shirt whose sleeves are short enough to let you see the bracelet whenever you move.

Just as you look up from your wrist, you see a reflection in the glass and you freeze.

There’s a girl, right across the street, and she’s looking at you.

She’s good-looking, with long, black hair and those sleek sunglasses everyone’s supposed to wear. You turn around, but she doesn’t move, only flicks some dust off her jeans as if she’d been checking her reflection as well.

It makes you unsure and insecure and you walk towards the door, adamant to get away from her. Are you turning paranoid?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: implied sexual assault. Nothing to graphic, but I don’t want to trigger anyone.
> 
> A/N: Watch out for the hint - Y/N uses her powers in this one - also I’m hinting at the fact that Y/N could be POC

“Hey, you’re here!” Finn jumps out of his seat to get to you, grabs your hand and pulls you forward. “You want some coffee? Something sweet? My treat!”

“Ehhm,” you say, aware of the curious glances, unable to think. “Yes?”

“Great, sit down, I’ll get you something.”

You’re unable to say something and sitting down sounds like a good idea until he’s back with something you’d never have chosen for yourself.

But you grit your teeth and thank him anyway because he was probably just trying to be nice, right? You can’t ruin your only chance at normal social interaction that fast.

Not that normal social interaction seems to be very inspiring, you realize, when it takes Finn over thirty minutes to get to the point of his very long, very boring story about last night.

“Sure, at first I was kinda pissed when Mr. Jordan told us he’d pick pairs for the project. But when he paired me with you, I realized I haven’t gotten to know you yet and that might be my chance. So what do you think?”

“Of what?” You ask, your mind has wandered off minutes ago, wondering if Tony had actually gone to sleep and if Wanda was awake already.

“The project?” Finn looks down at you from that weird angle that makes his eyelashes look longer and you pull yourself out of your mental stroll around the tower.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I got my notes-”

He laughs and you stop yourself from pulling them out of your bag. Why is he laughing? Is there something funny about taking notes you didn’t get?

“Sorry, did you think we would get to work here? You can’t stay at a coffee shop that long?”

“You can’t?” You look around but Finn snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

“Also I left my school stuff at home. It’s just around the corner and I thought it would be easier to meet here first, get some coffee and get to work then.”

“Can’t you go grab it? I will wait here.”

You’re starting to feel uncomfortable. Or, to be exact, even more than before. This isn’t going as planned.

“Like I said, we can’t spend the whole afternoon here, the shop closes in an hour anyway and we would have to move again. You’re not afraid, are you? You know me, I’m Finn, we’ve been in the same class for what, six months now?”

“Five and a half,” you correct him, “It’s just… I promised I would stay in the coffee shop. It was the only way to even get out of the tower.”

You know you should not have said that when it’s already out of your mouth.

“You’re not a teenager,” Finn reminds you, “Neither am I. You’re old enough to vote, drive a car and get yourself a drink whenever you want. Now come on, let’s go. I really need a good mark on this project.”

He gets up to leave and you follow him, not because you want to, but because you feel like you have no choice.

You drop your right hand into your bag and wrap your fingers around the pepper spray as you walk, your mind going into overdrive as Finn dives into yet another story about his social life.

Maybe it’s because all of this is a whole new level of a shitty situation, but you feel like you’re being watched. You look into the windows you pass and steal glances around, but there’s no one suspicious. Still, you can’t shake the feeling.

-

Finn’s apartment is bigger than you thought, with uncomfortable, yet expensive looking furniture that makes it look like one had copied a magazine before haphazardly throwing personal belongings into it.

“My dad forced me to go to night school,” Finn explains, “There was some… uh, story, that made me drop out of high school the first time. He’s sworn to hold back his money until I’m through, but I do make a good living working with him…” He hands you a glass of something you haven’t even asked for and points at a rather ugly painting.

“I got it from the last Art Gala, you know it? I heard Stark is a lot into Art.”

“Maybe, but not in the living rooms.” He makes a face at that and you keep the rest of your thought to yourself. He wouldn’t get Steve’s artsy jokes anyway.

“Can we start with the project?” You ask as he points at yet another thing Tony would never even think about buying.

“Oh, my, are you in a hurry?”

“Yes, I’ve promised the kids we would watch a movie tonight.”

“You’re a mother?” He asks, but you can see the shock is fake.

“Yes,” you tell him, your tone sourly, “As you know because you can’t tell me you own a TV as big as that and never watch the news. Every New Yorker knows Crazy Kid, Karma and me.”

He smiles. “I knew you looked familiar.”

You roll your eyes at him at which he steps closer. You take a step back and he laughs.

“What? Are you afraid? You know I’m not going to do anything. I just want to put my glass away…” He leans closer, stretching his arm holding his glass.

Your eyes follow the movement, which is your first mistake.

Your head is turned, Finn’s way to close and you smell something, his cologne or something like that, that rings a bell in your head, opens yet another door in your memory mansion. You can feel yourself slipping away into a memory, reality fading from before you.

You’re small and your hands that are clinging to someone’s shoulders are that of a little child. Whoever is carrying you has dark hair and a deep, yet warm voice. He’s singing a song and as you’re swayed around on his back as he walks, you realize it’s a lullaby. You know the words, but they taste foreign on your tongue, just as the smell of the man’s cologne is familiar to your nose.

It’s a memory that is so much older than anything of nightleaf, comforting like a warm bubble bath after a day in the cold. You want to spend more time in it, but Finn chooses this moment to shake you out of it…

By touching you in a place he’s not supposed to touch you.

-

It’s like a bucket of ice water in your face after what you’ve just remembered. You stop thinking and react, slapping his hand away. But he’s fast too, grabs your shoulder with his other hand and pushes you back with enough force to make your back hit the couch so hard you fall over the backrest.

He’s on you immediately, heavy weight and ugly grin and that’s when you snap.

He yells out in pain as you grab his shoulders, but you don’t have time to think, just ram your knee into the most sensitive part of his body, rolling off the couch as he jumps back.

You’re on your feet in a heartbeat, grabbing your bag from your seat without looking back.

You don’t have to, you can smell his burnt flesh and hear his whimpers as you run out of the apartment.

-


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> say helo to Kate Bishop/Hawkeye

As you hastily stumble down the street you feel all eyes on you, as if everyone could see what just happened. As if everyone could tell that you’ve just used your powers. Powers that you had sworn to never use again.

You still feel your hands tingle as you frantically try to get a hold of your phone in your bag. Your heart’s beating fast, your mouth is dry and impatient tears burn in your eyes but you need to get your phone, need to call Happy, need to get away - ”Hey, are you okay?”

A hand on your shoulder, you jerk away and turn, freezing, as you recognise the face. It’s the dark haired girl from before.

“Leave me alone!” You yell at her and she’s taken aback, reaching out her hands as if to hold you - you don’t think, just react - you push her away and run.

You see the small alley opening right next to you and jump into it, your steps loud around you as you make it just past a dumpster where you stumble, fall and crash against the wall.

Your left knee hurts, as well as your shoulder and your breathing is all wrong and hurtful. You try to calm down, try to relocate.

“Hey, are you in here?” A female voice rings out and you straighten, your back pressed against the dumpster.

You can hear steps, can hear her coming closer and before you know, you’re in a fighting stance, looking down at your hands that are now glowing red. With a temperature of roughly 200 degrees, you’re able to hurt enough to stop her, even if it’s just a faint touch.

You hate to think about it that way, but you’ve already burned Finn, you might as well fight your way out of this too.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you, you know. I just noticed you looked bad like you’ve seen a ghost and I wanted to help.”

More steps. You’re holding your breath.

She sighs. “Okay, this looks really bad, I get it. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I’m Kate. Kate Bishop. I’m friends with Clint. He was worried something might happen and asked me to patrol the neighborhood and have an eye on you.”

You gasp and freeze, scared that she might have heard you.

“So you are here,” she says, her voice still soft and friendly, “I really don’t want to scare you, so I’m just going to stay where I am and wait for you to decide if you want to come out, okay?”

“How can I know you’re telling the truth?” You ask, your voice shaking more than you’d like it to.

“Tough question. How about I tell you things about Clint? Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer when she doesn’t speak for a while.

“He’s got a dog, his name is Lucky. He loves Coffee so much, he drinks it straight out the pot He’s a great archer, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“That’s just generic bullshit,” you tell her off, “Everyone knows that.”

“Okay, you want the real deal?” She chuckles, “The first episode of Dog Cops Clint saw was the fifth episode of season one and he hates that he spoilered himself. The only way he’ll eat eggs is if they’re scrambled and-”

“That’s not true,” you interrupt her, “I make him fried eggs and bacon every Sunday.”

“Yeah, he eats it because you made it,” Kate says and there’s something in her voice that makes you pull back your hands.

“So you really know him?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m Hawkeye, his partner in archery and bad TV shows.”

“I’m coming,” you tell her and step out slowly, your left hand gripping the pepper spray, just in case.

Kate’s waiting on the other end of the dumpster, smiling lazily as you reach her.

“Hi,” she says, “Thanks for coming out. Do you want me to call Clint?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’d like that. Just to confirm you’re really who you say you are.”

-

“Kate? What’s wrong?” The voice answering the call is unmistakingly Clint and he sounds worried.

“It’s me,” you greet him and look at Kate who’s using her chewing gum to blow bubbles.

“Y/N? So you, uh, met Kate?”

“Yeah, she said you sent her to look after me?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I did. I knew Tony would ask Happy to do the same and that car isn’t really low-key. So I offered help from a friend you wouldn’t recognize at sight. Are you mad?”

“No,” you say softly, “That was very nice of you. Thank you.”

“Are you okay, though? If you met Kate, does that mean-”

Kate grabs the phone before Clint can even finish the sentence. “We’ve got it covered, Clint. Just some girl stuff, old man. Gonna call you back.”

She hangs up and stuffs her phone back in her pocket, smiling at you.

“Thought you’d like to deal with the problem first before having him hovering over you. He gets a bit overprotective.”

“I don’t mind that,” you say, “He does it in a nice way.”

Kate smiles and offers you her hand. You shake it.

“Now, how about you tell me what happened while we make our way back?”

There’s something in her face, something that hasn’t anything to do with the fact that she’s Clint’s friend but the fact that she’s a woman. As if she knows exactly what you’ve gone through up there.

So you tell her.


	18. Chapter 18

“And now he knows what I can do! Or at least some of it, but that’s enough. He could have already talked to the media, or sue me! The team’s going to find out! There’s no way I can hide that from them!” You feel sick to your stomach as you realize that you can’t even hide it from the kids.

“Relax,” Kate stops in front of a door that looks weirdly familiar. You need a moment to register you’ve walked back to Finn’s apartment complex.

“You see that thing?” She points to a small black square that’s attached to the intercom, “It blocks everything. No calls, no internet. He would have to walk towards the end of the street to get reception and if you’ve burned him that bad, he’s still covering up his wounds.”

“How-”

“I placed it there after you went inside. It was a bit tricky in case you were going to call someone, but, you know… Means we’re still safe.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” You ask your heart warming at the fact that she said we. It’s not even her problem, but she’s making it her own, counting herself in.

“Well, we’ll figure that out too. Now, do you want to come up with me and talk to him or let me handle it alone?”

“I do need that group project,” you throw in and Kate whistles. “I respect your dedication. Trust me and I’ll make sure you get an A on this.”

-

Kate doesn’t let you look as she fumbles around with the door lock. A few curse words from her and the door swings open.

The apartment still looks the same, even though you feel entirely different as you walk in after her.

You’re ready to panic as you’re unable to locate Finn at first, but right then he steps out of the bathroom and lets out a rather girlish sounding scream at the sight of Kate.

“How did you get in? Who are you?” He points at Kate and flinches in pain at his own movement.

“You left the door open,” she lies without missing a beat, “Also I’d put some ice on that burn.”

“Very funny! Don’t think I’m not gonna sue her. You can’t scare me!”

He walks past her, probably towards the kitchen, but he stops as he sees you, his face betraying his words. He looks terrified.

“What did you do to me?!”

“It’s just a burn,” you try to explain, “My hands get hot…”

“Which isn’t the matter here anyway,” Kate cuts you off, “Because what we’re talking about here, is the fact that you tried to get your way with her. Now, I’m not really sure what sexual assault gets you in court, but I’m pretty sure Tony is going to handle that for you. You know, Tony Stark, probably the richest man in the world. He’s gonna make sure you get no job, jo apartment, no nothing when he’s finished with you.”

Finn blanches, but Kate goes on.

“But that’s just punishment. Don’t get me started on revenge. You know, the Avengers are like a family. Probably heard of Steve Rogers. Might beat you up. That will hurt you, sure, but if you take into account that there’s also everyone’s favorite, the Black Widow, who might just wake you up one night to make you watch as she cuts off your private parts-”

“I get it,” Finn chokes out and Kate makes a sound of disappointment.

“But I was just getting started. If Clint hears about it-”

“But Clint’s not going to hear about it,” you cut her off, stepping forward, “Because I can keep a secret if you can. We settle this between us, Finn. I don’t know what you had planned, but we’re going to sit down, do this awful project and get on with our lives as if nothing ever happened.”

He’s speechless now, but you have to make a point. You have to make sure this never gets out, not even to nosy Maa.

“Because Finn, you should know that Maa was right. I’m a weird girl. And if anyone hears about this, no, if you even think about what happened, I’ll make sure you learn how a third-degree burn on your whole body feels. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he whispers and you step back again, feeling dirty but also somewhat relieved.

“Then let’s get to work. I don’t have all day.”

-

“Did you threaten him again when I was in the bathroom?” You ask Kate as you step out of the apartment building not even an hour later.

“Depends if you’re mad at me for it.”

“Well, I stole his Cologne, so I think I’m fine with it.”

“You stole his Cologne? Girl, you are petty.” Kate pulls the little black patch off and throws it into her bag.

You laugh. “No, it’s not what you think. My dad had the same and I can’t have him walking around smelling like my dad.”

“As I said,” Kate tells you, “You are petty… Now, what do you think? Want to do some retail therapy?”

“What’s that? Also, I should call Happy-”

“How about you call and tell you’ve made a friend and you’re going to hang out with her a bit? I mean, if you need to go home and be alone, I’m fine with that, but it’s going to impress the hell out of your folks.”

“You think so?” You stop; your phone already in your hands.

Kate nods.

“Just imagine it. They’re waiting for your call because something went wrong. You call and tell them you’re having so much fun, you’re spending a bit more time in town. I can get you home alright with a cover story and some cool memories.”

“That does sound nice,” you think out loud, “But Clint-”

“Leave Clint to me. You go call Happy.”

-

“You know it’s really weird to think you’ve never eaten a hot dog before.”

You bite down on the treat and savor the taste, but no memory comes up.

“Is it? Because I really can’t remember eating this before.”

“Not like the donuts,” Kate nods in understanding and it’s freakishly nice how well she understands you.

You’re sitting on a park bench, surrounded by fast food wrappers and a dozen bottles of different types of lemonade.

Ever since you’ve told Kate that you can’t really remember anything until the memory gets triggered - like that cologne - she’s determined to make you remember your favorite food.

And even though you’re going to need to pee very soon, this is exactly what you need.

“Clint’s going to be so jealous,” Kate mutters as you wipe mustard of your nose.

“Jealous? Why?”

“Oh, because he loves those.” She holds up a bottle of suspiciously purple lemonade. “Come on, hold it up so you I can take a picture of you drinking it. Or better yet, a video.”

“Kate, I don’t think-” You stop yourself as she points her phone at you, “What even is this?”

“Just drink it.”

“I’m pretty sure I still got mustard on my face,” you point out as you open the bottle and take a sip. At first, you can’t taste anything because of the bubbly drink, but then it hits you. You remember being sick as a child and cough syrup that has exactly the same awful artificial grape flavor. You swallow out of reflex, waking from your memory, gagging at the taste.

Kate cackles, still holding her phone.

“You should have seen your face!”

“This is Clint’s favorite?” You hold up the bottle, “Dude, you’re sick!”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just had to post it with that great pic

[Originally posted by atomandbrad](https://tmblr.co/ZPSiAv2FotiVW)

A/N: For everyone not knowing Kate Bishop aka Hawkeye, she’s amazing. Go read more about her [here](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fmarvel.wikia.com%2Fwiki%2FKatherine_Bishop_%28Earth-616%29&t=YWFjZThhNGJlY2M3NzgwOThlZTlmZDA3NjU1MzNmNGVkNjZiODVlMixWS0JVZVdoRw%3D%3D&b=t%3Ao9T3_zidohZsA6palrayrg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fdirajunara-archive.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F178110672452%2Fnot-a-hero-19&m=1)

-

“I hate you,” you tell Kate as you make your way down a street lined with shops, “I’m so full I could barf.”

“You don’t hate me, you love me,” she reminds you, stopping to check a window, “And I told you this is all part of therapy. It’s got my stamp of approval on it… Ooh, what do you think of those glasses?”

“Hmm? Yeah, they’re not bad.”

“Come on, let’s go inside.” She grabs your hand and pulls you inside.

“Can I help you with something?” A well-dressed woman addresses you from behind and you jump.

She notices Kate and her smile falters..

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss,” she excuses herself, “I didn’t realize you were here with your mother.”

“I’m-” you stutter, but Kate butts in with the glasses dangling dangerously on her nose.

“It’s fine, we just wanted to look.”

“Of course, take your time.”

She turns and leaves, but you barely notice that, too focused on Kate who puts the glasses back on the display.

“Yeah, so my face is kinda known around here too.”

“I don’t care about that, she just called me your mother.”

Kate laughs, her relief obvious. But you know how to spot and avoid a sensible topic by now.

“Seriously, have you seen yourself? You might dress like some hipster teen, but your skin doesn’t lie. Everyone can see you’re past thirty.”

“What’s a hipster?”

“Are you serious? You sound like Clint. Come on, I’m gonna give you some styling tips.”

-

“I’m not sure I wanna wear this to the tower,” you point out as Kate’s putting even more clothes onto the “definitely yes” pile.

“It would be a shame, honestly. You look great in it. And it’s not too tight, is it?”

“No,” you pull at the hems of the shirt you’re wearing. It’s light and breezy and the color reminds you of plums, “And it doesn’t feel like my old uniform at all… But I can’t keep buying clothes.”

“It’s all part of therapy,” Kate smiles and pulls another shirt from the hangers, “Try this on, now.”

“Kate,” you sit down next to her, “I think we need to talk.”

“You sound like a mom.”

“I am a mom.”

“I liked your teenage version better.”

“You’re stalling,” you tell her, “And I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. But eventually, I will go back into the tower and be alone and face what happened today. And I will be okay with that.”

“How?” All of a sudden, Kate’s strong facade is gone and there’s vulnerability in her voice and her eyes, more than you’d thought possible in a woman like her.

You smile and take her hand.

“Because I’m stronger than that. Because as shitty as it is, this can’t take away any part of who I am. Does it make me afraid of men? I think it makes me cautious. I don’t trust easily and I will be more careful, more determined to know what is okay for me and what I won’t let happen. Next time Clint won’t have to tell you to look out for me. Next time I’m gonna call you myself.”

“Or you could just burn his face off,” Kate offers and you laugh.

“No powers for a while,” you tell her and she makes a face, but laughs too.

“You’re a great mom,” she tells you and puts her head on your shoulder.

It’s a small gesture that reminds you that no matter how strong this girl might be, she’s still barely over twenty and you could easily be her mother too.

So you put your arm around her shoulder and be her mother for as long as she needs it.

-

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask Kate as you reach the front door of the Avengers Tower.

She laughs, all sass and coolness now, her sunglasses low on her nose.

“Please, I know how to take care of myself.”

“I’d still feel better if Happy could drive you home.”

“I’m flattered, but I will take the subway instead. My friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. You do me a favor and give Clint a hug, okay?”

You smile at her. “So you’re on a hugging base with him?”

“Maybe, but you should totally hug him.”

“Are you trying to matchmake?”

“Listen,” Kate leans forward to whisper into your ear, “You wanna know if he’s the one? Get yourself all dressed up for some weird award show. His reaction when he sees you all dolled up will tell you everything you need to know about a man.”

“And what reaction am I supposed to look for?”

“You will know when you see it. And with Stark around there’s always some party to attend to, right?”

She leaves with a smirk and a wave and as you watch her walk down the street you can’t believe you’ve only met this girl today. It feels like you’ve known her for years by now.

-

With a sigh, you step into the tower where Friday welcomes you immediately.

“I have been worried,” she tells you as you step into the elevator, “My calculations were for you to be back almost four hours ago.”

“I’m sorry, Friday, I got held up by a friend.”

“I’d like to run said friend through the database.”

“Not necessary. Who is around?”

“Mr. Stark is in the living room and awaiting your return. Mr. Vision is asking you to come to Wanda’s room as soon as you’re ready and Mr. Banner is asking for your presence as well.”

“Wow, I seem to be needed around,” you mutter, “Where’s Clint?”

“He and Miss Romanoff are preparing to leave for a mission. Do you want me to notify him?”

“You know me well, Friday. Please send him a message.

“Recording.”

You take a deep breath.

“Hello Clint, I am under strict order of Kate Bishop to give you a hug. And after that, I’d like her number to make sure the next time I can call her in as back up myself. She’s a great friend. Have a great mission and come back alive. Y/N.”

“Message sent,” Friday tells you right as the elevator doors open.

-

Tony’s on his feet as soon as he catches sight of you. He looks almost worse than in the morning and you feel weirdly out of place with your new clothes. You drop them right where you are, wrapping your arms around him the moment he reaches you.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “You’re now at a tie with Clint as the best person in the world.”

“I don’t know how I deserve this award, but I’m going to take it without question.” He drops a kiss to your head and you pull back to look at him.

“Kiss on the head? How bad is it? What did you do?”

Tony sighs. “I didn’t do anything. I was just worried.”

“Is that why you’re up again?”

“There’s more. It’s about that mission and we need to talk. Also, I wanna hear about your afternoon in detail.”

“Let’s just say guys are dicks and I can handle them?”

“Hey now,” Tony steps back to look at you, “Where is that coming from? Also, you look great, which isn’t the point, but still.”

“Tony, you’re stalling.”

“Fine, right, mission. The mission we went on. Remember how you told us about that blue liquid that made you forget everything?”

You blink. “Yeah, what about them?”

“It reappeared. Wanda’s still recovering but we hope we can trigger some of your memory to get more intel.”

You nod, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down, “Of course. Let me just check on Bruce first, Friday said he needed me and I believe he’s spent the afternoon with C?”

“Yeah, he’s in the TV room. I’ll let the others know you’re here and ready.”

“No,” you stop him, “Tony, you’re going to bed. Friday can let them know, but you need sleep.”

He pulls a face that is equal pain and pout and you place a kiss on his cheek.

“You know I’m right.”


	20. Chapter 20

Your steps are wearier now, as you walk towards the TV room. You’re tired, no, exhausted, and all you want is a long nap and maybe a hot shower too. But even six months out of nightleaf you can’t forget that there are still a lot of questions that need to be answered. You’ll always try to help, always try to make amends, but this time it involves Wanda, who’s more of a family member than a friend and that makes it personal.

You shake the bitterness from your face and step into the TV room.

Bruce has his back to you, awkwardly unfolding a fuzzy blanket. You keep quiet, leaning against the doorway to watch.

C is fast asleep, curled into herself on the big couch and Bruce carefully drapes the blanket over her, tucking her in gingerly, as if afraid she could wake.

You let him take his time, smiling softly as he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

He takes a seat on the corner of the couch, watching her and that’s when you softly clear your throat to make him notice you.

“Oh!” He jumps up, “I’m-I-”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.”

He breathes out in relief and follows you out into the hallway so as to not wake the girl.

“Found out how you feel about it?” You ask and Bruce pulls his shoulders up.

“It’s not every day you learn you have a teenage daughter.”

“I get that,” you tell him, “But there’s no pressure. Not from her, not from anyone. You’re not her biological father, just-”

“It’s my DNA they implanted in her. I do feel like it makes me her father.”

“And how do you feel about being a father?” You ask, glad he’s starting to accept it.

“It’s terrifying,” he admits and you laugh.

“Welcome to being a parent. I’m glad I could skip the phase where they were small, crying all the time and trying to kill themselves constantly, but it doesn’t get easier.”

“I want to be a good… dad, you know, but I don’t know how.”

“Bruce,” you put a hand on his shoulder, “That already makes you a good dad. Because you want to be there and you want to be good, all you have to do is be around, listen to her and take her seriously. Find something you both like and make it a project. You can teach her a lot no one else can.”

“I will try,” he tells you earnestly.

-

Despite the fact that you want to get to Wanda immediately, you feel the need to check up on B. Friday tells you that he’s in the library and that’s on the same level as your room, so you drop your newly bought clothes off there on your way.

“Y/N!” A breathless Clint jogs up to your room, “I was hoping to catch you before we left.”

“Are you okay?” You ask and he nods as he catches his breath.

“Yeah, just, the elevator was taking so long so I took the stairs.”

“This is the tenth floor, are you insane?”

“Maybe,” he smiles, “But are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am, why?”

“Kate.”

“Oh,” You’ve already forgotten about that, “Yeah.” You swallow and nod, “Yeah, I’m fine. It was an ugly situation that I could have prevented, but Kate helped me solve it.”

He stands there, cheeks flushed from running, worry on his face and you can’t help it. You are drawn to him.

It’s like you’re a moth and he’s the light and it’s a strange and shaky feeling and you think about Kate and if her little jokes have made you more sensible or this feeling.

Kate… You remember.

“Uh,” you make, swallowing down the nerves, “I almost forgot. I need to give you a hug.”

You open your arms and he’s there in a heartbeat. His arms fold around you, warm and strong and his hands find their place on your back without hesitation, just like your head drops down on his chest as if it’s supposed to be there, his heartbeat under your ear.

He smells good, like coffee, deodorant and something else and maybe it’s because you’re tired, but you melt into him, but he holds you steady.

It’s like falling asleep after an adventurous day, like coming home after playing outside all day.

Your chest tightens and your eyes burn as you realize something, right then and there, something you would have liked to ignore, no matter how often Wanda and Kate have pointed it out.

You like Clint. Like a lot.

You have hugged people and even though B does not count, you’ve hugged people and you know how they all feel differently. There are so many things playing into it, but the one fact that speaks the loudest is the fact that you’re curling your fingers, as you hold onto him, because you don’t want to let go.

“Next time,” you say to break the spell and it works, you loosen your grip and he does too, “Next time you tell me, okay?” You make a point in looking at him as you speak, but you look at his nose because his eyes are too distracting.

He smiles sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it. And I wanted you to be safe.”

“Tony wouldn’t have let me go without Kate, right?”

“Nah,” Clint shakes his head, “It was either Kate or Happy driving in circles.”

“We really need to talk more,” you tell him and there’s a lump in your throat at your own words, “I mean, if I would have known that you would actually have my back, I would have planned it out with you. Before embarrassing myself in the kitchen.”

He smiles. “Next time you’ll know. I’m always on your side… Eh, the side of mischief, you know.”

“Don’t let B hear that,” you laugh, “Which reminds me, I have to go talk to him before I go up to Wanda. And your mission-”

“Yeah, I should get going.” You’re both standing there, awkward, suddenly not knowing how to say goodbye

“How about a quick hug?” You ask, your voice hoarse.

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

Extra scene - POV CLINT

“You should have seen your face!” Kate’s voice is horribly loud, her cackling laugh even louder, but all he sees is you in the video, mustard on your cheek, making an adorably disgusted face.

“This is Clint’s favorite?” You hold up the bottle, “Dude, you’re sick!”

“What are you watching?” Nat’s voice cuts through the otherwise quiet room and he almost drops his phone.

“Just… a video, Kate sent it.”

“Oh, the lemonade joke? She sent me that as well.”

“She did?” He puts his phone away to make a point. He doesn’t want her to think he has watched it ten times in a row, even though he did, earlier that day.

“How are you feeling?” Nat takes a seat next to him and looks out the window. They’ll have to wait at least an hour longer before they can get to work but he thought she was out busying herself. He thought wrong.

“Well, I’m a mess, what do you think I’m feeling like?”

“Not that, you idiot,” she pushes his side, “About Y/N. I couldn’t believe you helped her get out. I mean, sure, you got Kate to follow her, which was a bit alarming, but apparently, you can’t go wrong with Y/N. She really might be the perfect girl for you.”

“She hugged me today,” he tells her and Nat puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Was it as nice as you make it sound like?”

“Even better, she’s…. just… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Perfect?”

“Gosh, no, Nat, no one’s perfect. I think she’s.. pure, yeah because she’s always trying to be honest and there for everyone and the way she looks after the kids or the rest of the gang… everything she does, she does because she wants to do good.”

“You really like her, huh.”

He nods with a sigh.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna mess it up. I always mess it up.”

“Not this time,” Nat pats his hand, “We’re not gonna let you. And I think if Y/N has any say in it, she’s not gonna let you either.”


	21. Chapter 21

After checking in on B, you’re more than ready to call it a day. This day has just too much for you to deal with and it keeps loading more and more on your back. There are C and Bruce, your feelings for Clint, your everlasting worry that Tony gets enough sleep and Kate you’ve just met but already feel like you need to mother her. There’s the reappearance of something from your past, Wanda having to recover and everything else. And then there’s B who’s trying to hide something from you.

You didn’t want to press it, not today when you don’t have the time to talk it out, but you feel that it’s there, boiling under the surface. He’s always been good at keeping his problems to himself but you’ve learned how to spot it. You’ll have to talk to him tomorrow, spend some time with him alone.

But right now you have to think about Wanda and keep your exhaustion at bay.

-

“Vision, she’s here,” Steve guides you into the room where Wanda’s lying on her bed, an IV attached to her arm. Vision has taken a seat next to her, holding her hand.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you much about the memory wiping drugs. The color is the same, but the vials-,” Steve interrupts you by putting an arm around your shoulder. “It’s fine. We need you to take a look at her shoulder.”

Vision gets up and carefully lifts Wanda’s left side, exposing her bare shoulder.

“Is this a bullet wound?” You ask, panic bubbling in your chest, “No one told me she got hurt.”

“We didn’t know about it at that time,” Vision tells you, “Wanda said she felt tired and wanted to go to bed and as she had used her powers to a great deal, it seemed only natural. It was only when I came to join her-” Vision stops and you bet that if he could, he would blush now, but he talks on, “that I noticed the wound. The bullet merely grazed her, but I was unable to wake her and as you can see, the bullet was laced with something.”

He points at the tender, swollen skin and you look closer.

“It’s purple,” you realize and following a reflex, you wipe it away with your index finger before licking it.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, but you hold up your hand.

“It’s a narcotic. I remember this, it’s similar to the one we use on C, but stronger.”

“A narcotic and a memory-wiping drug, both known to be used in nightleaf? That is no good news.”

“What does this mean?”

“We don’t know yet. But we will keep you in the loop. Vision, can you come with me? We will have to contact Nat and Clint.”

Vision nods and softly puts Wanda back to bed. “How long will it take for the narcotic to stop working?” He asks you and you helplessly shrug.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Would it be too much to ask you to say with her?”

“Not at all, Vision, I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you.”

-

You watch the two men leave before you drop into the chair Vision had pulled to the bed.

“You are exhausted,” Friday tells you softly and you snort.

“I can tell.”

“You should take some rest. I will be watching Wanda.”

“She shouldn’t be alone.”

“She is sleeping.”

You lean forward, examining your friend. A memory turns up in your tired, foggy head and you rub your eyes to concentrate.

“Friday, please turn off recording in this room.”

“I am afraid I can only limit recording.”

“Fine. Make sure no one comes in until I’m finished.”

“Affirmative.” You hear the door lock and pull the chair closer, reaching out until one hand lies on Wanda’s forehead and the other one on her abdomen.

Slowly, steadily, you force her body to raise it’s temperature until you can feel the fever burning away the narcotic. you feel memories bubbling up from all the times you’ve used your power on people, but you can’t allow them to take control over you. It’s not difficult to raise one’s temperature, the difficult part is to keep it in a safe range.

When her right-hand starts to move, you feel that it’s enough and softly drop her body temperature back to normal before pulling your hands back.

Wanda’s eyelids flutter and you greet her with a tired smile.

“Hey,” she whispers hoarsely, “You’re wearing something new.”

“Yeah, I do. Are you thirsty?”

“Yeah.” You grab the cup of water from her nightstand and help her drink.

“Want me to get Vision for you?”

She smiles apologetically, “Would that be okay?”

“Totally.”

-

“You should rest,” Friday reminds you when you close Wanda’s door after Vision.

“That’s what I’m aiming to do,” you tell her and stumble awkwardly down the hall. Your room is not that far away, but the living room couch is just two steps away and has never looked so comfy before.

Your knee hits the edge of it, making you fall forward.

Unable to balance yourself you land with your face in the soft cushions, but instead of sleep washing over you, it’s a wave of memories.

-

“Where am I?” You ask.

“You are at nightleaf labs where we take care of you.” A woman answers with a smile, patting your shoulder.

The crook of your arm hurts and you look down at a needle.

“You needed an IV,” the woman pulls the needle out and wipes away the blue liquid that mixes with your blood, “But you’re as good as new now.”

-

“Why am I naked?” You ask as you lie on a stretcher, your body limp. A man inserts a needle into the crook of your arm and you watch a blue liquid drop into your veins.

“There was a fire,” he tells you calmly, without ever looking at your face, “You survived.”

“And my papa?”

“Don’t worry,” he pats your arm, “You will forget about him in a minute.”

-

“Do you know your name?” A woman asks.

“Y/N,” you answer with a heavy tongue and she frowns. Was it the wrong answer?

“Give her another dose,” she orders and you make out a man next to her, “She remembers too much.”

-

“Do you know your name?” You blink into the light and shake your head. There’s only fog where the answer could be.

“Your name is Project A5. You work for nightleaf lab.”

“What do I do for work?”

“Execution.”

“Oh,” you swallow dryly, “What does that mean?”

There’s no answer.

-

“Unstable condition…” You try to keep your eyes open, but your head hurts too much. The world around you is moving, but your body lies still, “Too much wiping…Transport could break her…”

“Put her with the kids.” A man’s voice.

“Project C57 isn’t stable,” a woman argues against it

“Listen, Professor, I don’t care about stable or not. We need to evacuate this facility in under two hours if we want to keep the experiments up. We don’t have a transporter for every single one of your projects. You’ve got three. Put the functioning ones together and get rid of the others.

-

“Who are you?” A soft voice asks and you blink against your headache.

There’s a girl sitting across from you, with shy eyes that betray her rather bulky features.

“I’m… A5…” You rub your temples, “I think.”

“C57, she answers, holding out her hand, “Most are afraid of me.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes I get really angry and when I wake out of it, people are dead.”

“Are you angry right now?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not afraid,” you state simply and she looks so surprised you can’t help but smile.

She shudders and you furrow your brow. “Are you cold?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” you think about it, “No, I don’t think so. Do you…” You think about the word you’re looking for and open your arms instead, “I can warm you?”

It’s a long ride. Your head hurts and nothing makes sense in your mind, but C57 sleeps, curled into you, and there’s comfort in your presence.

-

“Who are you?” You ask as you wake up in a white room.

“I’m C57,” says the girl holding your hand, “And that’s B12. Don’t you remember me?”

“They wiped her,” says the Boy, “Don’t you see?”

“But she’s been so nice,” C57 claims, her grip on your hand tightening, “She held me when I slept.”

-

“Do you remember me?” A girl asks you and you blink and groan and try to shake the fog out of your head. This damned blue fog.

“You look familiar,” you say and she smiles like the sun.

-

“Listen,” C57 is sleeping, pressed against your side and B12 has folded himself around you. It has been almost a week since your last wiping and the two kids have made it their mission to make you memorize as much as possible in the short time.

“Listen,” B12 says again, “You have to remember that when they come with the blue liquid, you have to heat up your body. You did it the last time, but they still got a lot of it into your system. You have to fake not knowing a thing.”

“Blue is forgetting,” you repeat, “Purple is sleeping.”

“And green?” He asks.

“Green is hell.” You’re tired, but B digs his fingernails into your skin to keep you awake.

“You have to memorize it. We don’t get another chance.”

“Burn the liquid,” you repeat, “Got it.”

-

Cold air pulls at your hair and you stop to breathe, hands on your knees.

Your lungs burn and you can’t believe you’ve made it. Out of the truck, out of the capture.

You see something moving in the dark and hold your breath, only to release it as the other speaks, recognizing B’s voice.

“Mom? Mom!”

“I’m here.” You catch him, “You did well. Did you see C? Did she make it?”

“I think they shot me,” his words are slurred and you pull him closer, your hands moving around, trying to find a wound.

“You’re bulletproof, how did they get you?”

“Mom, am I dying?”

That’s when you find it. They shot him with a sedative dart, but you recognize the smell. They’ve laced it with the memory wiping drug.

It’s not enough to wipe everything, but B12 never remembers your powers. How he trained with you or how exactly he made it out of nightleaf.

And you don’t have the heart to tell him.


	22. Chapter 22

“Hey, wake up.” Someone’s shaking you. You recognize the cold grip of a metal hand on your arm.

“Bucky?” You ask, your voice hoarse, “Is that you?”

“Live and in person. Friday told me your biochemical readings are way off. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“I’m remembering.”

“Tell me about it on the way,” he lifts you without a struggle and you cling to his shoulders as he starts moving.

Your brain feels foggy, but it could also be a memory, not that that possibility scares you less.

“I think I remember you,” you mumble, your face mushed against his metal shoulder, “Did we meet?”

“We did. We know Nightleaf and Hydra thought about working together.”

“Why didn’t they?”

“Your boss was scared of mine. Didn’t want him to take over. Do you remember how that meeting went?”

“Did I set the house on fire?”

“You sure did. Friday, open her door.”

“Wait.” Bucky stops and you groan against his shoulder, “Wait, does that mean you know about my powers?”

“Have known the whole time.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Wasn’t my place to say something. It’s your secret, not mine. Now… bed?”

“Yeah.”

He drops you on your mattress and turns to leave, but you reach out and grab his sleeve.

“Sit.”

To your surprise, he follows your order without hesitation.

“You saw me naked.”

That wasn’t what you had wanted to say, but with the memories hitting you like hail, it was impossible for you to keep your mouth from saying your thoughts out loud.

“Hey now, to get the facts straight, you burned your clothes, ended up flashing us and I was too busy to get my boss out of the house to take a look.”

You shake your head and try to look at him.

“Friday, Lights on 20%.” You squint as the room lights up. Bucky shows you a wary smile.

“You mad at me?”

“No,” you sit up, pulling your knees to your chest, “I… just… they were using me.”

“I know. They called you a female version of me. Easier to control and leaving fewer tracks.”

“That sounds like they were selling me.” You stop as the rest of the memory reaches you and you groan. “They were trying to sell me.”

“And then you blew up the building. Very impressive. I still have a scar somewhere from it.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. That wasn’t you. That was Project A5.”

You’re unable to answer for a moment, as memories wash over you. They are too many to experience them all in detail, it’s more like a movie that’s playing a bit too fast.

Bucky doesn’t leave, even though you’re quiet and it’s comforting in a weird way. You look towards the door, remembering how just a few hours ago, you had hugged Clint right there.

“Can we fall in love?” You ask and Bucky turns an impressive shade of red next to you.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think that way about you,” he tells you and you groan in embarrassment.

“Not- not like that, I mean- I mean, can we fall in love, like, successfully, with someone else? Can we have romantic relationships after all we’ve done and been through?”

“I have no idea,” Bucky tells you, “But I’ve been thinking about it as well. I’d like to, but I don’t know if I should dare.”

“If you would be B or C and you’d ask me if you should, I’d say yes,” you tell him honestly, “And what makes you different to them?”

“What makes you different to them?” He asks back and you sigh.

“I’m such a mess.”

“But a mess can be loveable,” Friday chimes in and you both look up in surprise.

“We will have to take your word for that,” Bucky states and you smile at him.

“Honestly, I thought that being here would be all about learning how to be an adult and a normal human person and maybe figuring out my feelings in the way. But with those drugs turning up…”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, “I know what you mean. But don’t forget, sometimes it has to get worse to get better.”

“Does it?”

“Well, that’s what happened to me.” He smiles. “Now go to sleep. Real sleep, no walks down memory lane.”

“Don’t baby me.”

“Can’t help it, it’s our age difference.” He jokes and pats your head as he gets up.

-

When you wake up on Sunday morning, you are spooning someone.

“Clint?” You mumble confused, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, only to recognize your son’s dark skin and even darker curls.

He’s fast asleep next to you, clutching your arm to his chest and you breathe out in relief. You really don’t want to discuss that Freudian slip with him or why you wouldn’t have minded Clint sneaking into your room at night. You don’t even want to discuss it with yourself.

“What time is it, Friday?” You ask softly.

“It’s a quarter past six. No one else is awake yet.”

“Thank you,” you sink back into the cushions, unable to fall asleep again.

Normally you would get up and make breakfast, but you don’t want to wake B.

Right as you’re thinking it, he shifts and you whisper his name.

“Mhhhm,” he makes, which is his way of telling you that he’s awake. Sort of.

“Want to make breakfast with me?”

“Can I drink coffee?”

You hesitate, before giving in. “Fine. But with a lot of milk.”

-

As you stir eggs into the pancake batter, B sits at the counter, sipping his coffee.

You touch the sleeves of his sleep shirt. “You’ve put on some muscles, dear, you’ll need new shirts soon.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely! Not long and you will look like Steve.”

“I’ll never look like Steve,” B corrects you.

“I know, you’ll look even more handsome. Like Sam, but with better hair.”

“I’m not gonna look like Sam,” he states flatly and you stop stirring.

“Something wrong with Sam?”

“No, I- just… Mom, I’m gonna look like my dad one day.”

“Which one do you mean?”

“Does it matter?” B asks, clutching his coffee cup, “I don’t know either of them.”

“Is this because of Bruce?”

“No. I don’t know. It’s just…”

“You want a dad as well.”

“It’s just unfair, you know,” he grumbles, but lets you take his hand in yours, putting his coffee back on the counter, “I’m the boy. I’m supposed to have a father figure. But C gets one. She already has a Mom.”

“What about Tony?”

“That’s not the same. And he has Peter. He’s more like an uncle.”

“Bucky?”

“Mom, I can’t just pick one. They have to pick me.”

“No one says you can’t pick one. It’s your choice who you want to learn from. Pick all of them, if you want. Try and learn about their interests. If you bond you’ll know it’s not because of DNA.”

He furrows his brows at that, clearly thinking it through and you pull your hand back.

“Can I pick Clint?” B asks when you pour the pancake batter into the pan.

“Clint?” You ask surprised, “Why him?”

“You like him,” B says, shrugging, “And he looks at you like Steve looks at his girlfriend.”

“B-”

“And I like the arrow thing. It’s like Nat with her guns, but Nat’s a woman and I need to pick a guy. So can I pick Clint?”

“You just want me to allow you to train with real weapons.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll ask him. But about that liking thing…”

“Mom, I’m fifteen. I’m not a kid anymore. So if you want to make loooove…” He almost falls off his chair, laughing at your face.

-


	23. Chapter 23

You’re already scooping breakfast onto the plates that are held out for you when the kitchen door opens and Nat walks in, followed by Clint.

“Can I have some strawberries?” Wanda asks and you hand her the bowl while putting bacon onto Bucky’s plate.

“Nat? Clint? You want breakfast as well?”

“The usual,” Nat calls out with a smile, looking like she’s just taking a spa day while Clint squints at you through tired eyes.

“More Bacon?” You ask Bucky, ignoring his knowing smile.

“Nah, I’m good.”

You roll your eyes at him and load two more plates with food.

“C?” You turn a bit to look at your daughter who’s filling cups, “Coffee for Clint and Nat.”

She nods and you walk towards the table, putting the plates in front of the two.

Clint tries to smile at you, but he’s so tired, it looks more like he’s in pain. Which could also be true.

“No fried eggs for Clint?” Nat asks surprised and you shrug.

“Kate said he prefers scrambled.” You walk back to grab your own plate.

-

You wait until everyone has taken a few bites, checking that the coffee has had the chance to work on them before you speak up.

“Not to ruin the mood, but I remembered a few things.”

Silence. You put your fork down, thinking about the right words. You look at Bucky who’s nodding softly and swallow dryly.

“I remember waking up after they wiped me. Which tells me how strong this drug exactly is, because I have the bare minimum of memories about what exactly they made me forget. But I remember… they made me work as an executioner, right?”

You look around. C’s watching you with big, curious eyes but your son is chewing his lip, avoiding your gaze. It breaks your heart to think about his line of work and you let your eyes move away from him. Tony’ and Nat are looking directly at you, but Clint, who’s sitting between them, glares into his coffee.

You swallow again. “And they wanted to sell me to Hydra, which I believe you know?”

None of them looks away, which is no surprise to you. The fact that Bucky has told them - probably in the earlier stages of you being here - makes it easier for you.

“Now I’ve thought about it and there’s something I can’t wrap my head around. I’ve been one of their greatest assets for probably 15 years. They made a big deal about promoting me, but they never taught me how to fight? My powers aren’t bad, but they’re not that great. Hit me over the head and I’m out. Sam, Nat, you’ve seen me.”

You look at the two, earning furrowed brows.

“So you’re saying-” Steve stops and you breathe the thought out as though it would hurt to say it loud.

“I had a partner.”

Silence follows that relevance until B breaks it by clearing his throat.

“I remember them,” he says and to say you’re shocked would be an understatement.

The adults turn to look at him as if they’re seeing him for the first time.

“I don’t really know what they look like, because they’ve always worn a full body suit. But they liked to come by and look at us, especially when we were sleeping. They were creepy.” He shudders and you lean back, stretching your arm so you can put your hand on his shoulder. He softly leans into the contact, but breaks away, telling you without words that he needs his time.

Tony’s phone chimes and he grumbles.

“What?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from your son and over to him.

“Nothing.”

“Spill,” Steve says instead of you.

“PR is nagging me. They want a gala to show off the happy family. Amends after that awful interview. But not with that threat looming over our heads.”

“We should do it,” you disagree and now everyone’s staring at you as if you’ve suddenly grown a second head.

“Y/N,” Clint squints at you over his coffee cup, “You don’t have to do that. It’s not your fault that woman was a-”

“Language,” Steve interjects and now everyone’s rolling their eyes at him.

You shake your head, half of you thinking of Kate and the other half thinking of the threat you’re dealing with.

“That’s not it. I was hoping we could lure them in.”

And I was hoping to get a reaction out of Clint, you think.

Tony looks weary. “Those Parties have a lot of security.”

“Make it less and I’m willing to wear a dress,” you tell him and Tony opens his mouth, for once at a loss of words.

“Mom,” C pulls at your sleeve, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

You look at her, blending all the other faces out. “Probably. But I don’t think there’s a safer way. Not with Friday and all the Avengers around us.”

“Well if they fall into that trap, they’re either really good or really stupid,” Sam mutters and you nod.

“Let’s hope it’s the last.”

-

“Hey…” You stop loading the dishwasher and turn around to see Wanda.

“Hey,” you smile at her, “Nice sweatshirt.”

She laughs softly, looking down at the sleeves covering her arms.

“Thanks, I think you left it in my room once.”

You turn back, putting the last plates into the dishwasher and starting the machine, before getting up.

“You look tired, don’t you wanna take a nap?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, “And I think you’re the one who needs to lie on my bed.”

“Is it that bad?”

She takes your hand and pulls you with her.

-

“Why does this work so well?” You ask five minutes later, your head hanging off Wanda’s bed.

She snorts. “I have no idea, but keep talking.”

You tell her everything you can, leaving out only what’s necessary to keep your powers hidden. When you’re finished, she pulls your head back onto the bed.

“Thank you for burning the drug,” she tells you and you freeze.

“How did you- Friday?!”

“I did not reveal anything,” the AI defends itself and Wanda smiles softly.

“Y/N, I felt it. And I wanted to thank you in private. You didn’t have to do it, but I’m grateful that you did. It means a lot, especially as you’re so opposed to your powers.”

“I’m not opposed to them,” you disagree, “it’s just that… losing control means harm.”

“But you have it under control,” Wanda takes your hand, “Just look at your bracelet. It’s still intact.”

You look at the bracelet that Clint has given you, pulling at it for emphasis.

“Right now,” Wanda’s tone is urgent and you look up at her, “Right now you’re in a good place. You have control over it, you use it to a mild degree. I get that you don’t want to risk that, but I feel like your mind is wandering off to a place where I can’t follow you. That Gala is a huge risk. Are you trying to take a shortcut? You can’t skip steps in your recovery and you can’t take shortcuts when it comes to danger.”

“I just want my kids to be safe,” you whisper, “And I want to know how Clint feels about me.”

Wanda’s face softens abruptly.

“Oh dear, you don’t have to go to a Gala for that. You’ve hung the sun and moon for Clint.”

You smile weakly. “I told you I don’t want you to read his mind.”

“I don’t have to read his mind to know that, dumbass,” Wanda snaps her fingers against your forehead, “But I also know that you need the reassurance, so I’m going to allow it. But no more risky stuff, okay?”

“Don’t baby me,” you tell her and she hugs you.

“Can’t help it,” she mumbles into your ear, “You’re just too cute.”

-

Half an hour later you’re stepping out onto the roof after what feels like an eternity. How long haven’t you been out here? Just a few days?

Everything’s so confusing, you think, with your feelings and your powers, if you should open about both of them or deal with them separately.

You feel like a lioness, just thinking about your kids, but scared like a newborn fawn when it comes to facing the threats from your past.

“I’m not a fighter,” you mumble as you take your usual seat.

The Gala feels like a terrible idea now, but you’re not willing to admit it or back down. Tony’s insisting to get outfits that are bulletproof for you and C and Nat has sent you a detailed training plan for the days leading up to it.

What an egoistic reason, you think to yourself, risking everyone’s safety just because you need proof that Clint’s a good man. And you’re only doing it because it was Kate’s idea.

If only there was another way to find out about that secret partner.

You freeze as the realization hits you, scrambling to get up and back to the elevator.

“Friday, call Jordan. I need an appointment.”

As the elevator takes you down you think about your promise to Wanda. But what you’re planning to do is not really that risky, right?

Forcing yourself to remember your missions isn’t something you’ll have to tell her about. Right?

-

 


	24. Chapter 24

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Jordan sighs and shits in her seat. She looks different in her office, way more professional than she did in your room.

“Y/N, we have spoken about the risks before. Hypnosis isn’t a widely researched topic and I use it primarily to ease the symptoms of PTSD. I can’t guarantee that you will remember something or that what you see was real. And there’s the risk of re-traumatizing.”

You stay quiet for a while, pondering your possibilities. Jordan eyes you calmly.

Finally, you speak up.

“But there are other ways of remembering, right? You don’t have to use Hypnosis or triggers.”

“Are you insinuating-”

You get up and lie down on the couch. “I’m going to force myself to remember and as my therapist, you can’t just walk out of the room and leave me to myself.”

“That’s cheap, Y/N,” Jordan tells you, her voice stiff, but you’ve already closed your eyes.

“I’m thinking about missions,” you tell her, your voice soft, “I’m thinking about my gear, the way it sticks to my skin.”

“Y/N,” Jordan’s voice has a warning undertone to it, but it’s already too late.

As if your mind had been waiting for that one trigger, you’re falling into the memory.

-

Your uniform stretches over your skin. If the fabric would be just a bit tighter, it wouldn’t fit anymore and even now you’re scared it might just burst at the seems. The tightness hurts your skin, but the uniform isn’t the worst part. Something bulky and cold is wound around your neck, big enough to restrict your movement, with sharp endings that poke into your skin.

You reach up to touch the collar, as there is no mirror to look into.

“Don’t touch the Syringes,” a sharp voice says next to you and you flinch, pulling back your hands.

You try and look to the side, but the collar won’t allow it.

“Move,” the voice says again. It’s muffled by something, just enough to make it hard to make out if it’s female or male.

Someone pushes you and you stumble forward, eyes on a black-clad back.

You hear gunfire, screams, but you focus on the person in front of you as long as you can, but he steps aside and you see the bodies on the floor. It’s a family, probably innocent.

“They are hiding in the building,” someone says next to you.

“Let them burn, then,” the muffled voice says and a hand touches your shoulder.

The touch is too soft for this setting, but the hand keeps caressing your shoulder as someone leans forward. A mouth, clad with fabric, touches your ear.

“Burn them down, Darling,” the voice says and a finger presses against the collar you’re wearing, pressing the needle of one of the syringes into your skin.

You recognize the feeling immediately. The green drug burns like hell and it makes you burn like hell.

-

You’re gasping for air and shaking, a white ceiling above you that sprays cold water into your face.

“Y/N!” The voice sounds familiar, but you’re still fighting to breathe, barely registering that you’re not shaking from the cold, but that there’s someone shaking you.

You push yourself upright, fighting to stand. Someone’s grabbing your arms and you slam your head forward, hitting someone hard. Your head hurts, but the grip loosens and you step aside, moving towards the door. You need to get out, need to get away.

You feel the green drug burning through you, leaving you only heartbeats before you’re going to set fire to yourself.

This isn’t a mission, a part of your brain screams at you, get away before you hurt innocent people.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Someone touches your arm and you slap it away, running down the hallway.

There’s the elevator, but elevators aren’t safe in case of fire. Another door leads to a staircase and you jump through, making your way upwards, checking if you’re alone, only to stumble and drop, hitting your knees on the steps.

“Y/N, your heart rate is dangerously elevated,” a soft voice says and you look around in panic. You’re going to hurt them, whoever they are, wherever they are.

“Y/N, I’m going to call or help.”

“Just leave!” Your words sound slurred, but there, just a few steps above you is a garbage can. You grab the metal, pressing your hands against it, feeling it heat up beneath your skin. Maybe you can redirect the fire?

Focus, you scream at yourself, slow and steady, slow and steady heat.

You swallow against the pain that’s coursing through you, blinking and missing the spark setting fire to the contents of the garbage can. You see the flames, though, but rarely register them eating through the garbage until they reach something they shouldn’t.

The force of the explosion is strong enough to blow you back towards the stairs. You roll down a few steps until you stop moving on your own, ears still ringing, while the garbage can falls down even further, making an awful lot of noise as they clank against the stairs.

You let your head fall back against the stairs, freezing as you realize that you’re not wearing a collar. And if you’re not wearing a collar, did you even get injected with the drug?

You try to take a deep breath. And another one.

By the time you’ve counted to five, someone has crouched down next to you, but you refuse to open your eyes, too ashamed of yourself.

There had been no drug. And you’ve just made a garbage can explode.

-

“Hey,” something cold touches your temple, “You can’t fool me, you know?”

“I’m not fooling you,” you mumble.

“So you’re not trying to play dead?” Bucky mumbles back before he speaks louder to all the voices around you. “I’m taking her to Bruce.”

“Need help?” You cringe as you recognize Steve’s voice. Not him too.

“Nah, we’re good. Clint’s still training with the kids?”

“Yeah.” Oh no, that’s Nat. It’s official, you’re going to have to fake your death.

“Better not tell them then,” Bucky says and before you realize it, he’s picked you up bridal style.

-

“That’s gonna leave a bruise,” Bruce taps your temple and you flinch, “Sorry.”

“I deserve that,” you mumble, “I headbutted Jordan.”

Bucky snorts behind you.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” Bucky disagrees, “But I still wanna know why you thought headbutting your therapist and setting garbage cans on fire was a good idea for a Sunday morning.”

“I just wanted to remember my partner,” you grumble, “But that went terribly wrong.”

“Any idea why?” Bruce asks.

“It was too real. I was wearing the collar and they injected the green drug and I knew I had to get away. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Bruce sighs. “You can’t just force memories. The risk of re-traumatizing-”

“I know about the risks,” you cut him off, “I just thought I would get lucky.”

“You got lucky,” Bruce reminds you and pushes himself away from the table you’re sitting on, “And we’re done here.”

“Are you mad at me?” You ask and he heaves a sigh.

“Not mad, just… disappointed. Mostly in myself, because I was probably expecting too much from you.”

“Expecting? From me? I don’t understand.”

“C looks up to you,” Bruce says, playing with his own fingers, “I look up to you. And you’ve always been so… perfect, at being a mother. No one cares if you have powers or not, but taking such risks has an impact. What if C had tried it?”

“She wouldn’t-”

“Yeah, because you’re her role model,” he shakes his head and walks away, leaving you behind.

Bucky softly touches your shoulder.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he starts but you shake your head.

“No, he’s right. I just feel trapped and I thought my memories could get us the answers we need.”

“Patience,” Bucky tells you, “You need a lot of that in this kind of business.”

“I’m not part of that anymore.”

He just smiles.

-

The hardest thing is to go back to Jordan to apologize. She has an ice pack pressed to her forehead and listens to your awkward little speech before nodding.

“I accept your apology, but you will have to show me that you mean it,” she tells you before sending you away.

After that, you decide you’ll have to spend time with the kids. Talk with them, be open with them. Friday might have lied on the report for you, but Steve and Nat aren’t idiots. By now they’ll have at least an idea about what your powers are.

Bruce probably knows as well.

Which only leaves Tony, Rhodey, Sam, the kids, and Clint. You’d count Vision in, but you’re not really sure about him. He might have known it all along.

-


	25. Chapter 25

You’re in front of the Gym doors, hands on the handle, unable to move.

“Can I help you?” Friday asks and you swallow down yet another lump.

“I just don’t know if this is right.”

“What exactly?”

“Telling them. Or anything else.”

“Do you need readings to support your decisions?”

You sigh. “I don’t know, Friday. I don’t suppose there’s a blog online that deals with problems of superhero/assassins that are now adoptive mothers?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m afraid. But according to various self-help-books about raising teenagers, it’s best to be honest and open. Good communication is key.”

“How many of those books have you read?”

“All of them. I want to be of utmost help to you.”

“That’s very sweet, Friday, but with my powers… and Clint-”

“I am programmed to keep out of private relationships but I do not see a risk in telling you that Mr. Barton’s heart rate picks up whenever he encounters you.”

“It does?” You lick your lips in surprise and swipe your hands on your shirt, “Are you sure?”

“My biometric readings never fail me. Right now he is asleep.”

“Oh,” you swallow again, before nodding, “All right, I’ll try. If I fail, you’ll have to help me get a new identity.”

“Affirmative. How do you like the name ‘Whitney Coulson’?”

You laugh and use that moment of self-distraction to open the door.

“Mom!” C waves from far away.

The Gym is an enormously big room - probably the biggest in the tower - filled with everything a hero could ever need to train. There’s a pool, a place filled with machines you haven’t been able to make sense off yet and various mats for training superhero stuff.

Clint and the kids are at the far end, the shooting range. Well, at least you think that the bundle next to C’s feet is Clint.

“He’s napping,” C explains when you walk over and she’s right, the man is snoring loudly right there on the training mat.

“And he’s letting you practice with his bow?”

“It’s a training bow, Mom,” B corrects you with that “Duh” in his voice you’ve tried to make him lose, “Civilian Children play with these.”

He lets go of the string and a foam arrow hits the target, bullseye.

“Hey, you’ve got talent!” You applaud him, earning one of his more serious smiles.

“Do you want to train with us?” C offers you the other training bow and you shake your head. “I’m gonna sit with Clint and watch you for a moment, okay?”

-

It’s weird, sitting next to Clint. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, sitting next to him or sitting next to him when he’s asleep… He likes to nap in the weirdest places.

But you’re sitting next to him, knowing what you feel, or rather how you feel about him and it makes everything more… is there even a word for that?

You’re hyper-aware of every inch that’s between you and him, you can hear the softness of his snoring and how his breath falters from time to time, telling you that he’s moving from sleeping phase to sleeping phase, from dream to dream. Once or twice you look over, marveling at the fact that he looks more focused asleep than when he’s awake. And you pull yourself back, remind yourself that it’s creepy to watch someone else sleeping and focus back on the kids.

“How long have ya been there?” His voice is deep and husky from sleep, the words slurred. A shiver runs down your back.

“A while. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah… You’re thinking really loud.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” he disagrees and you look over. His eyes are still closed, but his brows are furrowed, “And I’m the guy who was so tired that he forgot to take out his hearing aids, so…”

“I didn’t even notice,” you apologize, “I would have taken them out for you.”

His eyes flutter open at that and he looks at you with such an open and vulnerable gaze that your breath gets caught in your chest.

Thankfully, C splashes her brother in the pool at that moment and the sound pulls you both out of it.

“Kids are swimming?” Clint rubs his eyes and slowly gets up.

“Yeah.”

“So what are you thinking about?”

“Stuff.”

He chuckles. “Care to explain?”

“I did a really stupid thing and now I feel like I need to come out about my powers but I’m scared and I feel like I overreacted when I wanted that Gala and I’m not sure if I should call it off, but I honestly don’t know anymore and it’s making me feel…”

“Panicky?” Clint offers and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah, exactly, panicky.”

“Want to tell me about the Gala thing?”

“Depends.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah? On what?”

“If you’d like someone, would you tell them?”

You have your eyes locked on his face as you ask and you’re kinda thankful for that because you can see the shock and fear and anxiety you feel yourself play out on his face.

“I’m…” He hesitates before looking down in defeat, “I would have as a child… a teenager, whatever. I was a cocky little shit and I didn’t really care.”

“But now?”

“Now? Now I’m scared shitless of the possibility. Of messing it up because I always mess it up. Like… this feelings are new and softer and so much more delicate than I’ve ever felt before and so is she and I don’t want to be the one who makes her break.”

He’s not looking at you, but at his own legs, scratching the skin there and you have to remind yourself in order to breathe, because- nevermind, he’s looking up at you through his eyelashes and you feel like your heart is beating in your throat.

“But I’d tell you to be brave because if you’re able to talk about it, you’re able to do it and the guy might be a socially inept secretly shy type of guy, you know?”

“I like you,” it’s a whisper and you’d fear that he hasn’t heard you, hearing aids and all, but you can see the muscles in his shoulders flex as he freezes in motion, still looking up at you.

The voice doesn’t sound like yours and it doesn’t feel like yours, but it’s like a stream of water let loose and you can’t make it stop.

“I really really like you and that scares me, like, so much and I don’t know what to do, because I still feel like I’m fifteen, moving from foster home to foster home, trying to fit in but I’m closer to forty than thirty and I have kids that are teenager and struggle and I need to be their mother and I need to do it right but I have no idea what right is. All I know is that I’ve killed too many people and that I could kill you, accidentally, that is, and that’s crazy and dangerous and my past is the same and I’m bringing it back into the present where it shouldn’t be and that’s a risk and I’m only taking it because Kate said I should look at your face when you see me in a fancy dress.”

You have to stop to catch a breathe and that’s good, really, because you’re starting to lose the sense in your rambling. It’s even better because it allows you to see the smile that’s starting to form on Clint’s lips.

“I’m torn between talking about Kates great idea and your very first sentence,” he confesses and moves his hand just an inch forward into your direction.

“If I take that, it’ll mean you get two awkward superhero kids and a possible date with a very weird superhero Mom.”

“You’re right,” he says and you hold your breath, anticipating the hit that never comes.

“You’ve already been brave once, it’s my turn now,” and he moves forward and takes your hand in his.

And there you sit now, on a smelly mat, holding hands, two fools in love in the literal meaning of the words. No, you correct yourself, no one’s used the word love so far, so it would be more accurate to call the two of them “Two fools in ‘the like’”. Yeah, that’s better.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Clint tells you, tapping the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I’m trying not to freak out,” you confess and he laughs softly.

“Same.”

“We could, like, just not tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” he says, “that sounds great. Just until we’re…”

“More comfortable with it?” You finish his sentence and he nods. “Exactly. We haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“You should stop holding hands then,” a voice calls out and you’re not exactly proud of the fact that you shriek like a banshee while jumping up and away from the speaker.

“B!” You hold a hand to your heart, feeling it race, “What were you thinking?”

“That you were trying to keep a secret from me. Us,” he corrects with a glance to C who’s standing next to him.

You look at Clint who’s face portrays almost exactly the same mix of emotions you’re feeling.

“Well, I’ll call in a family meeting, then. Clint, last chance to bail.”

He bites his lip before shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m gonna stay.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

“Can we agree to keep this between the five of us?” You look at your kids.

C nods immediately, but not B. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Why do you even have to keep it a secret? Why’s everything suddenly a secret for you?”

“Ever thought that I’m not exactly comfortable with everyone knowing?”

“Why? Are you ashamed?”

“No!” You don’t look at Clint as you answer, “I’m not ashamed of Clint. If anything, I’m ashamed of myself.”

B furrows his brows in confusion. “What?”

It’s not something you had planned to say or even thought about it before, but it makes a lot of sense, now that you’ve said it.

“Yeah, I’m ashamed of myself,” you breathe out, “Because I’m your mother and you should be my number one priority, but everything else seems to get in the way. I don’t have a lot of time for you because of school and now I’m thinking of… well, this!” you point at Clint, lacking the words to describe it.

“But that doesn’t make you a bad mom!” C claims with vigor and you sigh.

“Well, it feels that way. I shouldn’t have agreed on that Gala. It’s way too dangerous for you!”

“But we wanna go!” B exclaims while C is more reasonable. “Why did you agree on it then?”

“Two reasons. Clint and my past. I’m not gonna talk about the Clint part,” you stop the questions before they can even come up and Clint has the audacity to pout at you, “But my past is another reason for shame. What I’ve done-”

“I thought you couldn’t remember?” The kids look at you in surprise and you pull your shoulders up.

“There are more and more things coming up. None of them are pretty. Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to realize who I really am and kicking me out of the tower.”

“Is that why you’re trying to hide your powers?”

“I think so,” you answer Clint’s question and take a seat on the floor, your emotions being too much to handle them standing.

“You do realize that we’re the Avengers, right?” Clint asks and that brings the kids down to the floor as well.

“What?” You look at him, “What do you mean?”

“There are no such things as lost files when it comes to spy-work,” he explains, “There were so many people questioned and so many tests done. Everyone with a clearance high enough has an idea of what your power might be. And when it comes to Tony, he doesn’t get the meaning of the word privacy.”

You gape at him. “Are you telling me that everyone knows?”

Clint shrugs. “I think ‘having an idea’ sounds more correct.”

“Do you know?” You ask, your voice trembling more than you’d like.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I could have taken a look if I wanted. But I didn’t. I asked Nat if I could take you three out with an arrow if you ever went rogue and that was all the info I needed.”

He looks at you, uncertainty in his eyes, “Are you okay?”

“You’re not breathing, Mom,” C touches your shoulder and hisses in surprise, “You’re really hot.”

“I’m fine,” you press the words through your teeth and take a deep breath, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” You’re not really sure who’s said that and you shake your head to clear your mind.

“Yeah, no, I’m not. It’s just… it was a secret.”

“We do understand that term a little differently,” Clint tries to smile, but fails, “A secret is something everyone knows but chooses not to talk about. Like the fact that Nat once had a crush on Banner, but that didn’t work out.”

“Wow,” you say, “That’s…”

“Why did no one say anything about her powers then?” B turns to look at Clint, “I mean, if everyone knew, they could have just told her, but they did the pranks and everything.”

“Hell if I know. But your Mom isn’t the most outgoing per se, maybe they thought it would be better to act like they didn’t know it until she was ready to admit it herself.”

“It would have been fine to know,” you claim, “Because I blew up a freaking garbage can today and freaked out about people knowing.”

“You did?” B and Clint ask in unison and you heave another sigh.

“Yeah, which brings us back to the point. I did something very very dangerous today that I don’t want you kids to ever even think about. I forced myself to remember a mission. Which led to me believing I had been given the green drug.”

C gasps. “Did you act like it?”

“I did. I didn’t get my partners face or anything, just a lot of stress, pain and a blown up garbage can. Now, if that Gala really does get him here, it would be way too dangerous for you to go.”

“But you were right,” Clint disagrees again, “There’s hardly a better place or him to show up. Or her, you know. With all of us here, there’s no safer place for them.”

“But if I get triggered? My power is a huge risk.”

“What exactly is your power, anyway?” B looks at you with curiosity and you swallow.

“It might make you remember some things, so prepare for that,” you warn them and raise your right hand. You look at the kid’s faces as you focus because if you’d look at Clint right now, you’d probably run away.

You snap your finger and a flame bursts to life, dancing on the top of your index finger.

“Like that guy in the fantastic four movies,” Clint breathes out, making you lose focus and the flame disappears.

-

“What are you gonna do now?” Clint asks about twenty minutes later.

The kids have walked away and if you listen carefully, you can hear the sounds of them training. Or maybe they are playing, who knows?

You’re lying on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Praying for a hole in the ground to swallow me up?”

“Oh, I tried that, isn’t fun.”

“Really?”

“Well, you would have to ask Dr. Strange, but he just lets you keep falling eternally and I can tell you that gets boring real quick.”

You sigh.

“What am I gonna do?”

He’s quiet for a moment and you already think he’s giving up when he answers.

“Look, I’m certainly not an expert on dealing with stuff, but I believe if Kate would be here, she would say something along the lines of ‘Deal with the shit that’s already burning and work yourself towards the shit that’s still cold.’”

“That is quite graphic,” you mumble and he laughs, “Well, that’s Kate for you. What do you think is the most pressing matter?”

“The Gala. Should we go or should we not?”

“Talk to Tony. Tell him you’re worried about the Kids safety. Knowing him, he’ll make a nanotech suit to wear under the clothes. I can hang around them and try their food and drinks to make sure they’re not going to get poisoned. We’ll have Bruce ready with narcotics if necessary.”

“You really want us to go, huh?” You finally turn your head to look at him.

His eyes are closed, but he’s smiling.

“Well, it was Kate’s idea and now I really wanna see you in a fancy dress.”

“You’ll have to wear a suit.”

“Okay, scratch that, we’re not going.”


	27. Chapter 27

Clint stops at the door to properly greet Lucky.

“Good boy,” he tells the dog who sniffs and wags his tail.

“Yeah, I got you some pizza.” He pulls an already lukewarm slice out of the box and holds it out for the dog who snatches it out of his hands.

“Got me some too?” He looks up to see Kate lying on his couch.

“If you like lukewarm with extra cheese?”

“My favorite,” she makes grabby hands at him, so he takes a slice for himself and flings the box at her. She catches it with ease.

“Want some coffee too?” He asks, mouth full and walks into the kitchen.

“Read my mind.”

He works in silence and focus, only going back to Kate once to grab another slice, while the water trickles down into the filter.

He pours Kate’s coffee into a cup and takes the pot for himself, falling down on the couch next to her.

“How was the mission?”

“Crap. We got nothing.”

“That’s shit.”

He nods and takes a sip. Kate’s watching a rerun of some soap he’s not particularly interested in and his eyes wander around the apartment.

The walls are bare and the old wallpaper has fallen off in some places. He thinks it used to be of a light yellow color, but now there are stains on it from when Lucky has come home wet or when he tried to climb the walls to get a fly or a spider.

He shifts on the couch, his movement pulling open yet another tear in the fabric. He can see the filling pour out and can’t help to compare his furniture to the lounge area in the tower. He hasn’t been in the bathroom for a whole day, not that he has too. He knows every stain and every damaged tile by heart now. It has never mattered to him, but now it feels like a burden.

“What are you thinking about?” Kate holds a slice out for him and he grabs it.

“This apartment is a shithole.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” She snorts, but stops and looks at him. “Since when does it bother you?”

He pulls a face. He wants to say that it’s not bothering him, but it’s hard to think and impossible to say out loud.

“Is it because of Y/N?” Kate asks and he’s too surprised to keep a poker face.

“So it is because of Y/N.” Kate sighs and shifts so she can look at him, “Look, there’s no need to be insecure, she likes you-”

“I know,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, “She told me.”

“Wait, wait, hold up-” Kate waves her hands around, “This is new intel, I need details.”

He sighs. “We talked. Today. Well, it’s a secret and I can’t really tell you-”

“Shut up!” Kate slaps his leg, “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

“Shut up or tell, I can’t do both!”

“Don’t sass me, you ass. Tell me!”

But that’s where he stops, hesitates, thinks. Does he wanna talk about it?

“Nothing happened,” he tells her, “We just told us that we like each other.”

Kate looks at him without saying anything for a long, long time and her gaze is so analyzing and serious that he fears for the worst.

“That’s good,” she says eventually, “Now you know how she feels about you.”

Her tone is even, almost flat. She’s holding back just as much as he is and he grinds his teeth at his own inability to just… talk about the things he feels and fears and thinks about.

“Yeah,” he says, “Just don’t tell Nat .”

She gives him yet another look but leaves it at that and he’s thankful for it.

The difference between a good friend and a Kate is that Kate knows when to leave things be.

-

It’s around midnight when he sees his phone light up with a new message.

Kate is snoring on the couch next to him and even Lucky seems to be in a deep slumber, but his brain won’t let him sleep.

He remembers past relationships, how happy he had been and how bad it had ended.

It’s not that his place is a hole in the wall. He’s had worse by far but this is his apartment, he owns it and that’s more than he ever thought possible for a man like him. Maybe it’s that he’s never really cared about the way his walls looked or if the floor was particularly clean. Or maybe it’s something else that makes him the mess that he is.

He remembers Bobby telling him that he’ll never change and how he’s sitting at the table, drinking coffee straight from the pot, as she talks to him with so much exhaustion in her voice. She had gotten so tired of him by then. A cold shiver runs down his back. Maybe she was right. He’s never gonna change.

And it’s not that he didn’t try. But he is just as damaged as this apartment. One can put a new wallpaper on it, but the smell of wet dog will never go away.

Clint sighs and rubs his face.

He shouldn’t have said what he said today. He should have kept his distance from you.

Because you are different. You change, are not afraid of it. You turn braver every day and it hurts to know that one day you will look at him like Bobby did then. He doesn’t want you to get tired of him, not when he could never get tired of you.

“Damn brain,” he opens his eyes and grabs his phone, remembering the incoming message. He hopes that it’s Fury with another mission to keep him distracted, but it’s not.

“Can’t sleep. Are you up?” It’s you.

He hesitates, but his fingers are faster than his brain, making up their mind on their own.

He presses the phone against his ear and gets up.

“I have to look for my hearing aids,” he says instead of a greeting, his voice probably too loud. Lucky lifts his head to look at him and he pats the dog’s head.

The hearing aids are on top of the empty pizza box and he puts them in before putting the phone back against his ear.

“Are you there?” He asks, quieter now.

“Yeah,” you say and another shiver runs down his back at the sound of your voice. It’s different from the one he had been hearing in his head the last hours.

This version of you sounds friendly and warm and he’s fascinated by the fact that you can convey so much feeling in one word.

“Hi,” he says, swallowing down a lump of feelings. He moves away from the couch and Kate, out of the door and up toward the roof.

“Hi,” you say back, “Did I wake you up?”

“No, couldn’t sleep anyway.” He stops at a window and looks out, “How about you? What’s keeping you up?”

“Don’t know-” you hesitate, “I- there’s just a lot going on right now.”

“Tell me about it,” he jokes and moves up the stairs again.

“I wish you’d be here,” you say and he stops again to catch his breath, blinking away a tear.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice sounding just as worn out and raspy as yours.

You sniffle. Or did he imagine that?

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m just.. the roof is pretty empty without you.”

“Do you want me to come?” He asks, already moving back down, “Just give me, like, twenty minutes.”

“No, Gosh, no,” you sniffle again and this time he’s sure that he heard it right, “It’s way too late for that. Stay where you are.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind seeing your face.”

“Sap.”

He laughs, his tired brain too slow to catch on as his heart just unloads itself in that easy atmosphere you always manage to create.

“Your presence is the best remedy for the demons of the past.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

That’s when his brain catches up and he groans and takes a seat on the stairs.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s good,” you tell him, “I’ve read about five different books about relationships already and they all mention that good communication is a must.”

“You did what?”

“I was freaking out and Friday provided me with the material.”

“That explains why you can’t sleep.”

You don’t say anything back, just breathe, slow and steady. He gets up and walks the rest of the way towards the roof. He reaches the door that leads to the roof and pushes it open. The freezing air hits him like one of Nat’s punches.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just cold.” He presses through his teeth and takes a slow breath to ease himself into it.

“Is it? Where are you?”

“On the roof.”

“Oh! Can you see me? Can I see you? I’m waving! Wait, in which direction do I have to wave?”

“Left,” he says, lifting his hand to wave back even though he knows there’s no way you can see him.

But that’s you, right? Waving at him from across the town just because you can, telling him that you like him just because you want to.

“Are you waving back?”

“Of course,” he says and you giggle. He’s cold and tired, but that’s definitely his favorite sound now.

“Tomorrow,” he tells you before he can chicken out again, “I’m going to take you out on a date.”


End file.
